


Hello Again (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

by circa1927



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Romance, tom hiddleston - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 113,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circa1927/pseuds/circa1927
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of Gracie, Tom, and 3 years of "hello" and "goodbye."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. November 2010: Richard the Dick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cate Shaw (Bluebell84)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebell84/gifts).



> I can't stop writing Tom Fics. I can't. 
> 
> Also, in this story, I am fully aware that I have changed the names of some "real life" people, as in actors or Tom's family, etc. I also do not stick to real timelines of movies, events, etc. I do this as to not limit myself to those timelines when I'm writing. Also, I'm lazy and I'm not going to stalk Tom's history to find out where he was filming or whatever at a certain date. Whoops!
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! Thanks for all the continued support!

Let’s be honest. When I tell people that I am an aspiring art museum curator, they aren’t often that surprised. I fit the bill. I’ve never been the girl that stands out in a crowd. I’ve never been the girl that _wanted_ to stand out in a crowd. I like quiet things. I like staying home on Friday nights and catching up on reading while half listening to NPR podcasts. I like routine and making “to do” lists, and I like my life to be neat, orderly, and calm. That’s why I love art. The older the better. It’s stood the test of time. It’s exciting without being obvious, most of the time. There is a science to it—the paint, the brushstroke, the lines and color. It’s predictable in some ways. I understand it, it understands me.

This all may make me seem entirely too boring, plain and vanilla, but it is what it is. I’m okay with that. I’ve come to terms with who I am.  It has worked pretty well for me. My beginnings were unsteady, and frenzied, and now I’ve found a calm, steady balance.

For the past three years, I’ve been pretty happy with how my life has been. I just finished college at New York University. I somehow graduated with a major in Art History with a focus on Museum Curation, and a minor in illustration. The whole time, I’ve lived in a tiny closet apartment not too far from the university with my boyfriend, Richard. He moved in about six months ago, after we’d been together for two and a half years. When I say I move slow, and resist change, I mean it. And it’s been all good and golden. That is, until, two weeks ago, I came home early from my very last seminar on Dutch and Flemish painting, and found Richard balls deep in some blond undergrad.

Ahem. Hello.

Life = not so plain and predictable anymore. And to think, I let that man leave his dirty socks all over my pristine apartment. And he had the gall to cheat on me, in my own bed, with some girl who he said “meant nothing, and is nothing”. Please. Mostly, I’m just sad that I had to throw away the gorgeous comforter I got on sale from Anthropologie a few months ago. Richard is replaceable, but I’m not sure that comforter will ever be.

I went through a period of depression, of deep remorse, of “woe is me”. I asked god, the air, some random guy in the subway what was wrong with me. God didn’t respond, the air kept blowing by, and the subway guy looked at me like I was insane. I probably am. I asked how Richard could do it to me. I called him “Richard the Dick” or just plain “Dick”, but it didn’t totally numb the pain. I’ve been through break ups before. But none like this. Three years spent with someone to find out they were not who you thought they were—it messes with your head. Apparently I thought Richard liked quiet strawberry blonds with too many freckles and a love of art nouveau, but no…he likes blonds with a penchant for doing it doggy style.

But I digress.

After I discovered them going at it like rabbits, I spent about four days without any contact with the outside world. I febreezed my whole apartment, trying to get out the “smell”, and used about two containers of Clorox disinfecting wipes on every non-porous surface. Then, I ate my weight in ice cream and danced drunkenly to Cake’s version of “I Will Survive”, screaming it at the top of my lungs until my neighbor banged on the conjoining wall. Well, fuck you very much, sir!

It was at day five when I finally turned my phone back on, took a shower and ate something with any real nutritional value in it. Pizza has nutritional value, right?

I had 89 text messages, 29 missed calls and 22 voicemails. I deleted most of them without reading or listening to them, but when I opened the text messages from my best friend, Santos, I paused and scrolled through them. They started out simple enough, but went from pleasant and worried to somewhat psycho and delirious rather quickly. We don’t often spend long without talking to one another.

I took a deep breath, and dialed his number, clearing my throat as I did. I hadn’t talked to anyone in days. I felt like I was emerging from some dark, murky cave.

“Holy fuck, you’re alive.” Santos answered on the first ring.

“I’m alive. Yes.” I sat back on the couch, marveling at how many containers of Ben and Jerry’s were sitting on the coffee table. I must have blacked out.

“Are you okay? I’ve been trying to contact you since you left me that voicemail, sounding like a dying cat.” He sounded rushed, and far away. I sighed, remembering the desperate call I’d made to him right after I’d found out about Richard.

“I’m better.”

“I would have come over but I’m not even in New York right now. I was seriously about to hop a train back home when I couldn’t get in touch with you.” He had been in Washington, DC for two weeks, finishing an architecture internship. Santos is definitely on the fast track to a super star career in design and architecture. It’s just a matter of time.

“I’m sorry. I had to go off the grid. Richard…” I trailed off. Saying his name hurt.

“Fuck that fucking fucky dick. Seriously.” Santos spat out. I rolled my eyes, but it was my sentiment exactly and it felt amazing to hear someone say it.

“Santos…what am I going to do?” I asked softly. Santos let out a harsh laugh.

“What? What are you gonna do? Are you kidding me, girl? You’re gonna keep going. You’re going to find a new man and be amazing and happy and so fucking glad that Tiny Dick is out of the picture. But first, before all of that, you are going to go on vacation with me. So pack your bags because we leave in a few days.” His voice was excited. I blinked.

“I just graduated. I work part time at the gallery making less than that bum outside my apartment….Santos, he makes good money. I can’t go on vacation.” I stuttered. Santos laughed, his hearty, belly laugh.

“Not an excuse. Besides, it’s already paid for. Remember Emily?”

“Emily?” I got a vague image of petite, pretty blond from a party.

“She goes to Tisch. She’s super actor-y and serious about emotions. Anyway, she put together this whole big trip at some resort in Punta Cana. Her rich friend Veronica was supposed to go, and now she can’t because she got some job in a commercial for Covergirl. So, you’re in. I already cleared it with everyone. Emily loves you. She remembers you from that Toga party where your boob popped out—“

“My boob did not pop out—“

“It did. Everyone saw. It almost turned me straight.” Santos laughed and then kept going. “It’s a free trip, Gracie. Pack your bags. Get your inner slut ready. You’re going to have fun with me whether you like it or not.” He said, and he meant it. And I was honestly powerless to stop it. Once Santos has his mind set on something, it happens. And really…a free trip? How could I say no? So that, is how everything started. How my life went from normal, predictable and plain to something quite different altogether.


	2. November 2010: Will

Let’s get something else straight. I’m not a one night stand kind of girl. Not that there’s anything wrong with those that are, but I’ve always found myself to be far too quiet, reserved and altogether anxious for that sort of wild abandonment. I wouldn’t call it a rule, but perhaps it had been an unspoken one. All of my sexual experience, from my first time with Andy Preacher at age 16 (basement of his parent’s house), right up to good old Tiny Dick, had been after quite a good amount of “get to know you” time.

That being said, if “no one night stands” is a rule that I somehow made for myself, then I suppose rules are made to be broken. Especially if you haven’t had sex in a month, and your rather persuasive best friend is telling you that you need to “have the time of your fucking life.” Mix in the stress of being newly graduated from college without much direction or hope of a lovely, life enriching career, the lingering madness of knowing the man you loved cheated on you, self preservation and a lot of alcohol…and you can easily be nudged in a new direction. A slight loosening of your own personal moral hierarchy.

And it all started with Santos, a white sandy beach and the mention of a bonfire party.

“Are you going to the full moon bonfire party tonight, Emily?” Santos asks, covering himself in sun tan oil. It glistens off his perfectly sculpted, deep tan chest. He sits under a palapa on a lounger, wearing the tiniest pair of swim shorts I’ve ever seen. I don’t even know if I could fit in them. The Dominican sun is harsh and hot around us, and I can feel beads of sweat rolling down between my shoulders blades. I glance over at Emily, who is sitting in the sun in a tiny bikini and a big, oversized straw hat that covers most of her face. She’s wearing huge sunglasses, giving her a quite glamorous look. We’ve all got a pretty good base tan, after five days lounging around in the sun. I don’t quite have what you’d call a tan, but my freckles are standing out quite nicely.

“Of course. Are you?” She raises a perfectly sculpted blond eyebrow. She’s a sweet girl, and when I arrived at the resort earlier in the week, I immediately recognized her. She’s an acting student, and an import from London. It’s not uncommon, as the acting program she is in is one of the best.

“No, lovey. I am meeting Olivier at the sunset bar, and he’s taking me on his yacht. Gotta make the most of our last two nights in paradise.” Santos wiggles an eyebrow at both of us and then cackles, throwing his head back. Leave it to Santos to find a gorgeous, wealthy guy to whisk him away to an even more gorgeous location.

“Amazing.” Emily grins. She looks at me. “How about you, Gracie? You’ve got to come. It’s a huge party. There will be so many guys there.” She knows about my situation, and between her and Santos, the urging for me to find a fling has been rather relentless.

“I will come for a bit.” I nod. Santos whoops loudly, and then smiles.

“Get it.” He winks at me and I cringe.

“Doubtful.”

“Oh, Gracie girl.” Santos groans and stares at me with his wide brown eyes.

“Gracie! You’re gorgeous! Don’t sell yourself short.” Emily sighs and smacks me on the thigh. Santos scoffs and rolls his eyes, then pulls his Ray Bans down.

“Gracie knows she’s gorgeous. Guys fall all over her. She looks like a red headed Audrey Hepburn, for god’s sake. Like a modern day ballerina fairy.” Santos waves his hands around, nearly spilling the fruity drink he has wedged between his knees. I blush and roll my eyes.

“You do have this…ethereal calmness about you.” Emily agrees and I scrunch up my nose.

“You’re too good for most of the buffoons here, but you need some fun.” Santos nudges me and pushes his sunglasses down his nose so he can make eye contact.

“Promise me you’ll try tonight. We don’t have much time left here. Get that terrible ex out of your system, and have some real fun. Promise me, Grace.” He asks, and then reaches forward and grabs my hand. I give him a half smile.

“I’ll try, I promise.” And I’m not lying. “Believe me, I want to forget Richard more than anyone else here.” I sigh. I want to have fun. I’m young. I’m 22. It’s time for me to live a little.

“Good girl.” Santos seems pleased with my answer, and he sits back, closing his eyes.

“I will be there. My brother is supposed to come in today, but I think his flight is running behind schedule.” Emily frowns and checks her phone. Emily is staying with another group of friends, and her brother, for a second week. Europeans take their vacations…or…holidays, very seriously.

“I’ve still yet to meet your illusive brother.” Santos murmurs, his eyes still closed.

“Not many people have met him. He’s chronically busy.” Emily shrugs and keeps looking at her phone.

“I’ve been to your house for the last two Christmas’ and he hasn’t been there.” Santos takes a drink. I reach over, taking the suntan oil from him and start smoothing it onto my skin. Santos and I have been friends since high school. He’s my closest friend, and the one I’ve known longest. We come from similar places—similar backgrounds. His parents divorced when he was twelve, and so he was always shuttling between the two of them. They were decent parents, but it wasn’t an ideal situation. My parents weren’t together either, but I hardly knew my father. I’ve met him a grand total of five times. My mother was hardly ever around. I talk to her on holidays, sometimes, and that’s about it. The last time we talked, she asked me for money.

Santos and I seemed to bond over our similar family situations. We called each other “orphan” because although all our parents were still alive and “around”, more often than not we felt like we were alone. It was good to have someone like him around. He always bounces back. He’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. He’s my family.

“He’ll be there this year, I think.” Emily shrugs. “But I never can tell with him.”

“Mmm, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Santos looks at me and smiles. “Are you still going to your Aunt’s for Christmas this year?” He asks. Christmas is only a month away and with all the drama going on, I’ve barely thought about it.

“I guess so. I haven’t spoken to her.” My aunt Tara, my father’s mother, is the closest real family I have. And I’m not that close to her. She’s married with two bratty kids and her husband who gives me the creeps. He insists on calling me “doll”. I see them once or twice a year, and that’s about all I need to see them.

“Ladies, I’m going to go back to my room to get ready for tonight. Gracie, maybe I’ll see you tonight at the party? I’ll send any good guys your way.” Emily stands up, wrapping her sarong around her hips.

“Please, I need all the help I can get.” I laugh. Emily waves goodbye, and then turns to go back to her room.

“I have a good feeling about tonight, Gracie.” Santos smiles at me. “Full moon party. The beach. Paradise! What else do you need?” He opens his arms, gesturing wildly around. I laugh and shrug my shoulders.

“Mr Right, I guess.” I answer softly.

“No…no, not Mr. Right. Just Mr. Right Now.” Santos blinks at me, and we both break into a fit of giggles.

****

 

The details of the party are a little blurry. There is a beach. There is a full moon. There is a bonfire. Everything is as advertised. When I arrive at a little after midnight, I immediately grab the nearest shots I can find and take two of them. The waitress with the tray tells me they are some kind of coconut liquor, but I could care less. It feels strange to arrive at a party alone, and where I know no one, but it also feels freeing. No one knows me. No one knows my hang ups or my past. No one knows I’ve just been cheated on, and basically dumped. I can be anyone. Anything.

I look around for a bit, getting a feel for the set up. I don’t see Emily anywhere, so I just keep drinking. I take another shot, and then I order a mixed drink. The music is blaring, and the bonfire is roaring. People are dancing, and though it is a huge beach, the area where people are dancing is packed. I feel the alcohol go right to my head, and before I know it, I’m swept up in the atmosphere. It’s completely intoxicating. The sand under my feet, the light from the silver white moon, the thumping of the music. I’m lost in my own world, dancing with arms in the air, eyes half closed. If my friends back home could see me now. They’d ask if I was on drugs.

That is, until I run smack into someone. I stumble and find myself quickly steadied in the arms of a rather tall, blond, good looking guy. At least I think he could be blond. If he’s not blond then his hair is pumpkin orange. The light from the fire and the moon, combined with some sort of party lights, make it hard to really make out his features.

“I’m sorry!” He murmurs into my ear, his mouth close enough that I can feel his lips brush past my ear.

“It’s ok.” I answer back, trying to remember that tonight I’m not Gracie. I’m someone else. Someone sexy and free, and ready for adventure. Do I sound convincing?

“Are you alright?” He asks, and I realize I am still sort of balanced in his arms. I pull away quickly when I realize this. He is definitely blond. His hair is sort of wavy and long enough to be pushed back from his face and forehead. He has a handsome face, with a broad forehead and a strong, narrow nose. His cheekbones stand out, seeming to reflect light from both the fire and the party lights. He smiles and his whole face lights up. I would place him around my age but when he smiles, he appears much younger.

“I’m fine, thanks.” I nod, having to yell a bit over the music. He looks at me, his eyes narrow for a split second, and it’s as if he’s really studying my face. I blink, and take half a step back.

“Can I get you a drink? It’s the least I can do.” He smiles and motions to my cup, which I realize I’ve spilled mostly in the sand when we collided. What the hell, I might as well. I shrug my shoulders.

“Sure. Vodka and water with lemon.” I say, standing up on my tiptoes so I can speak to him. He’s tall—my head barely comes to his shoulders. He’s bare chested, as most of the guys are at the party, and wearing low slung shorts on his narrow hips. He’s not particularly buff, but he’s lean and has nicely defined muscles. He’s attractive in a non-threatening sort of way. It’s kind of exactly what I need at the moment. I already feel like I’m about to run the other way if I get even a tiniest bit overwhelmed.

I swallow hard, and he nods and then turns and leads the way toward the bar. As he turns, he takes hold of my hand, holding it gently and casually in his much bigger hand, leading me through the crush of people carefully, as if he doesn’t want to lose me.

Ladies and gentlemen, we may have a winner.

Although the bar is crowded like the rest of the party, he gets me my drink quickly, taking my empty cup from my hand and handing me a new, full one. He grins as he tips his cup toward me, and we clink our plastic cups together. I notice his teeth are straight and white. In the fluorescent and black lights, they almost glow.

“What’s your name?” He leans down, speaking into my ear. My mind races. I can’t tell him my real name. It would break my whole illusion. If I’m going to do this, I need to be someone else completely. Lola. No, too much. Nothing too crazy. Something believable. What exactly is a believable name? I should have thought of this earlier.

“Jamie.” I stutter after a second too long. Real smooth. He looks at me for a second, his rather startling eyes searching mine. He pauses for a half moment, and then seems to accept this, the sides of his mouth curling into a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Jamie. I’m Will.” He puts a hand out, and we shake as if we are in a business meeting, and not wearing our bathing suits at some crazed party in the middle of the Caribbean.

“Nice to meet you.” I can’t help but smile. We clink glasses again, and then we both down our drinks.

Two hours, countless songs, and at least three or four vodka waters later, we are still out on the dance floor. We haven’t stopped moving. Will is an excellent dancer. Fun, and flirty and just a bit silly. It is most likely the vodka talking, but halfway through one song where the singer is belting out about dancing all night, I grab him and wrap my arms around his neck. He bends down, his lean, strong body rocking against mine. I can feel the pressure and sway of his hips as he presses them against mine, his hands on my hips. It is strange how dancing with someone for a few hours can give you a strange sense of knowing them. Or maybe it is the alcohol. Either way, I feel as if I’ve known Will my whole life and we’ve barely said two sentences to each other.

Before I can think too hard, I look up, tilt my head back, and I kiss him. It is what you’d expect a drunk kiss on the dance floor to be like. Messy, passionate and a bit bumbling as people move and bump past us. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me against him. We’re both sweaty, our legs covered in sand, and out of breath, but it is a fantastic kiss. He tastes like the coconut rum we’ve both been drinking all night. I feel more alive than I have felt in weeks. Perhaps longer than that. It feels cleansing, and invigorating. I’m alive! I can still feel!

We barely pause for air and I pull him closer to me, trailing my mouth up his jawline and to his ear. I can taste the salt on his skin and it’s intoxicating. The attraction is there. It’s palpable.

“How far is your room?” I ask, channeling my inner “one night stand kind of girl”. I am sharing a room with Santos, and though I have a feeling he will be spending the night on a yacht, I don’t want to risk it.

“Two minute walk from here.” Will answers, his voice husky in my ear. I nod and grab his hand, my heart racing with excitement.

“Let’s go.” I lick my lips, and he looks at me like I’m a feast. Oh, I am in the best kind of trouble possible.

****

 

We make out the entire way to his room. He leads me toward the presidential section of the resort, which really is a short walk from the beach party. We half jog, half speed walk down the sandy pathways, clinging to each other and laughing as we kiss and fall into bushes and stumble along the paths. We are already out of breath from dancing, and the kissing isn’t helping much either. He grins at me as we come to a stop in front of the small bungalows that line the northern part of the beach.

“Here we are.” He fumbles in his pocket for a second before pulling out a keycard.

“Fancy.” I say absentmindedly, letting my hands trail a path up his back. His skin is warm and taut under my hand, responsive and muscled. Will opens the door, and then pulls me inside the bungalow. It is a small room, but it’s very nice inside. We both sort of take a step backwards when we come inside, as if we’re both realizing exactly what is about to happen. His room is neat, and there isn’t much evidence that he’s been there long. He turns on a lamp, which casts a dim white light through the tidy room. In this normal lighting, I get my first real, good look at him.

He’s handsome, that’s for sure. But he’s also rather approachable looking. He’s got a warm, friendly face, and though he’s fit, he’s not about to win a weight lifting competition. His hair is a bit on the longer side, and it’s lays in nearly curly waves around his face. It is a nearly golden blond color, and it goes well with his light eyes. I’d hate to ruin this lovely time with thinking about Richard, but I can’t help it. Will is the exact opposite of Richard’s dark looks. Will is light, and happy, and seemingly carefree. Richard was dark, with dark hair and eyes and a brooding sort of face. This is a nice change. It is what I need.

We stand across from each other, taking in the other person for a few moments. I can’t quite read his expression, but I silently pray he is okay with what he sees. I’m wearing a jewel green bandeau bikini that brings out my forest green eyes and hopefully hides some of the extra fluff I gained from all that Ben and Jerry’s.

“Is…everything…” I don’t know what to say, and saying ‘do you like what you see?’ sounds terribly desperate and self conscious and not at all what ‘Jamie’ would say. I stop myself and swallow, shifting my weight from foot to foot nervously. Pull it together, girl.

“You’re gorgeous, Jamie.” He says finally, as if reading my mind. I feel a rush of relief flood over me, and then I have a split second to think before we’re rushing toward each other. I won’t lie, it’s a bit bittersweet to hear him call me Jamie. But, it’s also a little thrilling. I’m doing it. I’m being spontaneous and sexy! I’m having a one night stand!

We come together quickly and Will picks me up in a surprising move of easy strength. I can’t help but squeal softly, but then I wrap my legs around his waist as he walks me toward the bed, kissing my throat and shoulder as he does. His mouth feels amazing. Note to self: Be more like ‘Jamie’ more often.

“I don’t…I don’t do this often.” I breathe out heavily before I can think.

“Neither do I.” He says softly, still kissing my neck as he pauses for a moment. I don’t know if he believes me, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I don’t know if I believe him. He sets me down on the bed, and I settle back onto my arms. Will stands in front of me for a moment, before sliding over me, covering my already nearly naked body with his. We keep kissing, his mouth soft and perfect against mine. His big hands run up my sides, over my hips and stomach and then up to cup my breasts. I moan, my voice strained as I push my head back and run my hands up and through his lovely, soft hair.

“Oh Will. Will.” I say his name as he trails kisses up my stomach, then pushes my flimsy bikini top up and over my breasts. He hesitates for a beat as I say his name, and I open my eyes. I’m surprised to find he’s looking at my face, and not my bare chest. He looks for a split second like he’s going to say something but that seems to pass. He leans down, slowly, brushing his lips over the swell of my breasts. My breath hitches, and I hold still as I watch him take one of my nipples in his mouth. His fingers come up, cupping my breasts toward him. All other thoughts are gone from my mind in a heartbeat. He knows what he is doing, and I am so thankful for that.


	3. November 2010: The Walk of Shame & a Clear Conscience

I am new to the walk of shame. Totally new. But now I feel like I know it. I understand it. I’m living it. I sneak out of Will’s room at half past six, and somehow manage not to wake him up. I feel absolutely ridiculous walking through the resort grounds wearing only my bright green bikini so early in the morning. Luckily, I only pass by a handful of morning runners, and they keep their judge-y thoughts to themselves. I know my hair is a mess. I didn’t even check it before I left. I just sort of woke up, searched frantically for my “clothes”, and then made a mad dash out of Will’s bungalow.

Thankfully he seemed to be a pretty solid sleeper. And after the marathon we had last night, I was even surprised that I woke up as early as I did. The walk back to my room is good. I need the fresh air. My legs and arms and…other bits…feel lovely and tingly and a tiny bit sore in the best way possible. I can still feel his lips on my skin, the way he would grab my hands and squeeze tightly when I would do something that he liked. It’s like this foggy, delicious memory that keeps drifting through my sleepy brain. I can see the very beginnings of the sun rise, and it’s turning the morning sky all sorts of lovely colors.

All in all, ‘Jamie’ had a fantastic night. A really fantastic night. And now, it’s time to turn back into Gracie. Good old, boring Gracie.

I make it to my room, and when I open the door I’m surprised to find Santos in his bed. He’s got about half a dozen blankets wrapped around him, and the air conditioner at full blast. I shiver in my bathing suit as I try to close the door as quietly as I can behind me so I don’t wake him up. I need a shower and some breakfast before I can face his inquisition.

“Look at you, you little hussy.” Santos moans from the bed, his face barely visible under a layer of blankets. I freeze at the door to the bathroom, pause and then turn. Caught.

“Hi. Not out with yacht boy?” I ask, jutting out a hip. Santos pulls the blankets away from his face, squinting at me.

“I got in about an hour ago. Your bed was still perfectly made. And judging by that tornado of a hairstyle going on…someone got laid.” He smiles, sits up with the blankets still wrapped around him and smiles broadly. I can’t help but smile either. Like I said, it was a great night.

“His name was Will. He made my toes curl.” I whisper. Santos makes a shrill, happy noise and pokes a hand out, pretending to fan himself.

“Love it. So happy for you, Gracie girl. I knew you had a slut somewhere in there.” He bobs up and down on the bed for a moment before laughing and then throwing himself back down onto his heap of blankets.

“I’m happy too. He was really nice.”

“Don’t go getting attached.” He mumbles, pressing his face into a pillow. I shake my head.

“No, don’t worry. It’s why I left early this morning. I didn’t say good bye. I just left.” I grin, knowing that I did the right thing. Santos raises a hand in the air, waiting for a high five. I skip over, smack his hand, and then pat his butt, which is almost impossible to find under the layers of blankets.

“I’m going to take a shower and then I’m going to try and find those waterfalls. Do you want to come?” I ask, suddenly feeling energetic and ready for the day. We had heard about some beautiful, private waterfalls not far from the resort. A few of them have great diving cliffs. We’d said all week that we would find them, but being lazy and drinking margaritas seemed to take precedence over hiking through the woods.

“I’m not moving from this bed today. I got zero sleep last night. You weren’t the only one up all night being a lady of the night. Come get me when it’s time for dinner.” Santos says, and he seems to dig himself farther into bed, like some sort of cave. I smile and nod.

“Have fun.” I turn, and go into the bathroom, looking forward to a hot shower.

 ****

 

The walk to the waterfalls takes longer than expected. I only pass one or two people as I make my way there. It is still early, and I guess most people come to the resorts to sleep and relax, not hike a few miles to some deserted waterfalls at seven in the morning. It’s a nice walk though, and it is perfect for clearing my head.

It’s nice not to focus on Richard for a minute. He’s the farthest thing from my mind. I thought about him for a half second the other night, realizing that Will was the exact opposite of Richard’s appearance, and I then banished from my thoughts. And it wasn’t hard. Where Richard was often rushed and sloppy, Will was patient and precise. Where Richard had been too rough or not confident enough, Will seemed to understand the perfect pace. We just seemed to mesh well. If a girl is gonna break her rule and have a one night stand, it is definitely the sort of one night stand she wants to have. I am still all tingly just thinking about it.

And the great thing was that Will was sweet too. He was funny, and made me laugh. He made me feel comfortable, and not at all like I was some morally barren degenerate. Although if I were, I guess that made him one too. Maybe that’s the cool thing about hook ups. You can have fun, and be great for a few hours, and then you can just disappear. No obligations, no further responsibilities. Just your best, sexiest self for a few steamy hours.

I am about to give up on finding the falls. I’ve let myself wander, following trail markers for over an hour. My tank top sticks to my sweaty skin, and I’m dying to find the falls so I can take a swim. Finally, I turn the corner around a large clump of trees, and find myself in a wide, lovely clearing. The waterfalls are huge, loud, and framed by jet black, slick rocks. The cliffs that lead to the drop look to be about 20 feet high, maybe more. My heart starts beating when I see someone up on the top of the cliff. He’s alone, balancing on the edge.   With the sun behind him, I can’t make out any of his features. He’s just a figure, blacked out against the rock and the early morning sun. He seems to hesitate for just a second, but then he jumps, plunging quickly toward the deep, jewel blue pool beneath him. I gasp softly, without meaning to, and hold my breath as I watch him fall.

He plunges into the water, making only a small splash at the bottom. I keep watching, waiting and praying for him to come up. Oh god, what if he doesn’t? What if he hit his head? I don’t know CPR. I took a class about five years ago, but I was so terrible at it. Will I have to drag him out of the lagoon? Or will he just sink to the bottom?

Just then, when I’m about to get totally hysterical, the figure pops up a few meters away from where he entered the pool. He doesn’t seem to know I’m there, though he’s swimming toward me. We seem to be the only ones at the waterfalls for the moment.

I take a step toward the pool, onto the rocky, naturally formed ledge around the swimming hole. He keeps swimming closer, and as he gets nearer, it only takes me a few seconds to realize I recognize him. Will.

Well, shit.

His hair is slicked back, wet with water. It is darker now that it is wet, and it seems to change the shape of his face. He’s all strong, masculine angles in the bluish morning light. He swims effortlessly through the water, and when he finally looks up, we lock eyes. His are blue, almost unnaturally so. I remember them being light from the night before, but in this light, they are almost ablaze with how clear they are. He stops swimming, and treads water for a second, a bevy of emotions passing through those bright eyes.

“I thought you were a dream, maybe.” He says finally. I lick my lips, and then step forward. I crouch down on the smooth rock, and then sit down, dipping my legs over the side and into the cool, lapping water.

“Are you following me?” I ask with a smile. He grins and then keeps swimming forward, turning slightly so he is aimed right at me.

“Pretty sure you found me.” He says, swimming up to me. His head is inches from my knees, and I suddenly flash back to just a few hours ago, when his head was also so very close to my knees. I can feel the heat rising in my chest and I try to calm myself down quickly.

“You have a point.” I say softly.

“You didn’t say goodbye this morning.” He says, his voice gentle. He sounds concerned and maybe something else. Something I can’t quite read. I avoid his eyes for a half second, but then I look at him. He looks even better than he did last night, if that’s possible. I tug at the straps of my tank top, and try not to bite my lip.

“Yeah, isn’t how that sort of thing…works?” I ask. Will presses his lips together, his brow furrowed.

“I’m not sure. It doesn’t have to work that way. You could have said goodbye. I would have liked to say goodbye to you.” He says softly and then shrugs.   I suddenly feel a pang of regret, and for the first time since we met, a bit of embarrassment. I shouldn’t have snuck out.

“You’re right. I should have said something.” I nod. He gives me half a smile and then looks a bit bashful.

“I was worried you didn’t have a good time.” He offers this little tidbit, and I’m speechless for a second. Is this how hook ups are supposed to go? Talking and people being nice and perhaps being friends?

“I…I had a great time. I had an amazing time, to be totally honest.” I don’t want to lie to him. “What…about you?” I ask. He looks at me with his blue eyes and he breaks into a wide, almost boyish grin.

“I had an amazing time, Jamie. Truly.” He says. There he goes with saying my fake name again. It feels sort of wrong, but I don’t think I can back out of it now. I look away for a second, and then try to change the subject.

“That was an impressive jump.” I say motioning to the cliff.

“I was standing there for about ten minutes, trying not to piss my pants before you came.” He laughs. I chuckle and my voice echoes around us.

“Well, you made it look easy.”

“Peeing my pants or jumping?” He keeps smiling. I smile back.

“Jumping.”

“Are you going to jump?” He asks, and then he suddenly places his hands on the flat rock next to me and hoists himself out of the water. I watch as he rises out of the water, rivers running down his sculpted chest and disappearing down and over his swim trunks. He flips himself easily and sits down next to me. I can almost feel the cool wetness of his skin. It is a hot day, and I’m sweating from the hike.

“I was thinking about it.” I shrug. Will laughs and then grabs my hand, standing up.

“Let’s go then, lady. No time like the present.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I shake my head. I’m not Jamie anymore, though Will thinks I am. I am firmly back in Gracie territory. I don’t know that Gracie jumps off cliffs into giant waterfalls. Gracie stands back and admires them and thinks about taking a picture, or a quick sketch of them.

“Nope, you have to do it now. Come on, Jamie.” He smiles and tugs on my hand. I resist for only a second before letting him lead me up a narrow path by the rock. He is barefoot, and traverses the rocky terrain easily. I lag behind slightly, but I manage to mostly keep up. It only takes us five minutes to reach the top, and then shimmy carefully across the ledge toward the diving spot. Will doesn’t say much, but he keeps looking back and checking on me. It’s sweet, really.

When we reach the top, I shrink back immediately. It is much higher than it looks from the ground. And it looks pretty high from the ground. I can see the spot we’d just been sitting a few minutes ago, and it looks absolutely tiny.

“Ready?” He asks, licking his lips and rubbing his hands together. He’s already warmed up and ready to go. I shake my head.

“No. What if we die? What if I hit my head or break my leg or…” I trail off.

“What if, what if, what if.” He shakes his arms out and grabs my hand. “What if we jump together, and we both live, and we have a fantastic time. What if that?” He asks. I laugh and nod. He has a point. We both smile at each other, and I realize how much fun I’ve had in the last 8 hours. Just with him.

“I have…a confession to make.” I say suddenly. “In case this is the last thing I do, I want my conscience to be clear.” I look wearily down over the cliff, and then up at Will. The water far below looks deep, and jewel blue. Will nods and waits, watching me.

“Ok?” He says, jumping slightly from one foot to the other in anticipation of the jump. I squeak as I look over the edge again, and then I turn to him.

“Don’t hate me. I’m really sorry but…my name isn’t Jamie.” I grimace, half shutting my eyes, and hoping he doesn’t feel too betrayed. He raises an eyebrow, looks surprised, but then bursts into laughter.

“I had a feeling, honestly.” He answers. “What’s your name then, you little minx?” He grins and puts his hands on his hips, pushing out a long, strong leg. I smile and feel a blush rush over me.

“It’s Gracie. I’m sorry I lied.” I say. Will nods, his mouth turning down a bit as he considers my name. He smiles then and nods.

“That fits you better. Gracie. It fits you perfectly.” He says as he brushing a hand over his mouth, covering a laugh. I grin, feeling better.

“Are you ready to jump?!” I ask loudly, jumping up and down a few times to get myself ready. Will laughs and takes my hand again. We step up to the very edge of the cliff, our toes touching the brink. Will looks at me, and then, without warning, leans over and kisses me.

It’s a sweet kiss, but deepens quickly when I push my hands up and over his broad shoulders. We pull back after a few seconds, breathless and smiling.

“Let’s do this.” He nods. “And Gracie? I have a confession as well.” He runs a hand through his hand, pushing it back. I nod, focusing back on the jump in front of us.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“I lied to you too. I felt bad and wanted to tell you, but…my name’s not Will.” He says, trailing off as he looks regretful. It should surprise me, but it doesn’t, and I laugh.

“Oh really?” We both sway, ready to jump. “So what is it, then?” I ask.

“It’s Tom. My name is Tom.” He says with a big grin, as if we’ve both just told each other our deepest darkest secrets.

“Tom.” I say his name, letting it roll off my tongue. “It fits you perfectly.” I say with a wink. He laughs, loudly and openly, and then he tugs me ever so slightly forward. Without another word, we turn and face forward, and we take a big, flying leap over the side of the cliff, our fingers still intertwined together, careening toward the deep, dark cerulean blue pool beneath us.


	4. December 2010: British Seaside Insanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Forgive me for any strange geographical errors. I'm doing my best with google and some advice from the internet. LOL.
> 
> And I am fully aware I've changed names of people :)

“I’m glad you came.” Santos nudges me with his knee as we board the Sandbanks Ferry. It’s December 23rd, and a breezy, somewhat balmy 52 degrees in the small south western English town. At least, it feels balmy compared to the 22 degrees we left back in New York.

“Are you sure it’s okay? I don’t want to crash the party.” I look at him nervously, as Santos wraps his pea coat around his slender frame, and pulls a knit hat down over his dark hair.

“Yes, lovey. I’m always told to bring a guest. And Emily’s mom is like Mother Theresa. She takes everyone in.” He slings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me against him. Two days ago, he’d found me in my apartment staring blankly at the wall. My Aunt Tara had just called me to tell me that I wasn’t invited to Christmas this year because there simply wasn’t enough room. My Uncle Danny was having all his nieces and nephews over. I shouldn’t have been surprised, I really shouldn’t have. But for some reason I was. And I was strangely hurt. It’s weird, no matter how much you tell yourself someone can’t hurt you anymore…some things are always just a sore spot. My family happens to be a very sore spot. I haven’t heard from my mother in months. I’m not sure she’s even in New York still. And I don’t really care to know where my dad is.

And so when Santos came barging in, arms full of presents he wanted to wrap in my apartment (using my wrapping paper, of course), and just oozing of Christmas cheer, my natural reaction was to burst into tears.

“It feels strange to go to someone’s house that I’ve never met for Christmas.” I sigh and sit back against the seat, trying to relax. The flight had been long, and now we have a bit more traveling to do until we got to Emily’s family’s home.

“True, but do you even really know your Aunt and Uncle that well? Besides, you know Emily. And Christmas as adults isn’t quite the same as Christmas as kids, right? Though Christmas as kids was always shit too.” He cackles, but I can see the waning sadness in his eyes. We both get this way around holidays. A little sad, a little too dark. “Emily’s family is so great. They do this every year. Their house is practically an estate- it’s huge. They invite tons of friends and family over for a week long party. I mean, it’s all rather tame and innocent—no one’s doing lines in the bathroom. But it’s so much fun. You feel like you’re part of a real family.” Santos grins, and then we both look at each other for a minute, our eyes locking. I see in him exactly how I feel—that ever constant search for a “real family”. I push against his shoulder and look away.

“Thanks for bringing me along, then. And for being my sugar daddy.” I brush roughly at my watery eyes, doing it quickly before Santos can say something about it, and make me actually start to cry.

“Anytime, babe. At least the money is good for something.” He mumbles, and looks out the window. If there is any perk to Santos’ situation, it’s that his parent’s divorce has permanently given each of them “bad parent” complexes. His mother is a lawyer at a top firm in Connecticut. His father comes from a long line of surgeons in upstate New York. In other words, loaded. I occasionally call him a “trust fund baby”, because he’s honestly set for life. His parents throw money at him every chance they can. Though he usually accepts the money, storing it away, or occasionally splurging on a trip, he is very generous with it, and still continues working hard at becoming an architect.

The funny thing is, in an attempt to not be bad parents, it’s sort of exactly what they’ve done. Money doesn’t make up for being completely absent. But on that note, I’d like to thank Mr Romero for funding this impromptu trip.

“Let’s have a good time, okay?” I ask him.

“Yup.” He nods and turns back toward me, opening his coat a bit and flashing me a glimpse at something slim and silver in his inside pocket. A flask.

“Where did you get that?” I laugh, shaking my head.

“Duty free while you were in the loo.” His eyes light up as he pulls it out, taking a sneaky sip. He holds it out to me and I roll my eyes, but then take it from him, taking a quick sip before anyone on the ferry catches us. It’s something strong. I honestly have no idea what it is, but it burns as it goes down.

“What is that?”

“The best money can buy.” Santos puts the flask back in his jacket.

“Really?”

“No, it’s ‘Ol Grandaddy.” He laughs. I wince, thinking of the cheap, terrible whiskey.

“It’s Christmas. You could have at least splurged on the good stuff.” I can feel it burning its way into my stomach. I haven’t really eaten all day, so crap whiskey was probably not a good idea. Santos sighs heavily next to me. A man with more money than he knows what to do with and he still buys a $20 bottle of whiskey.

“Ok, scrooge.” He mumbles, but there’s a smile on his lips as he shoots me a narrowed eye glare.

“Want your Christmas present?” I ask, digging around in my backpack. It takes me a second before pulling out a small package wrapped in gold foil paper. His eyes light up.

“It’s not Christmas yet, you scrooge.” He grabs the present and eagerly shakes it. I roll my eyes and laugh.

“Don’t shake that! And it’s not your whole present, just a little something to get this week started.” I watch him as he gingerly pulls at the paper. He’s the slowest, most indulgent gift unwrapper inexistence. It’s excruciating.

“Oh, you spoil me.” He murmurs, peeling off the paper, and slowly unsealing the tape.

“Santos, come on, Christmas will be over by the time you unwrap it.” I groan. He smiles and keeps moving at a snail’s pace.

“I want to savor it.” He finally unwraps the paper, and pulls out the little wooden box. It takes him another hour, it seems, before he takes the lid off the box, revealing nine little perfectly made chocolates in the shape of penguins.

“Gracie!” He grins and holds them up close to his face. They’re from a chocolatier in New York called L.A. Burdick. They’re his favorite.

“Let’s eat one right now.” I smile as he looks at me with glowing eyes. We spend the rest of the ferry ride eating expensive chocolates and taking burny little sips of cheap whiskey. I’d say it’s a pretty good start to the holidays.

 

 ****

 

Emily’s mother’s vacation home is insane. That’s the best way I can describe it, so I just keep whispering it over and over again, every chance I get. Santos has his arm intertwined with mine, as Emily shows us around. There isn’t anyone else around, and she’s already told us that her Mother is out shopping for dinner that night.

“It’s just a small group of us tonight. Tomorrow is when everyone starts coming in.” She says, turning around and walking backward as she shows us through the home. She looks perfectly comfortable there. She totally belongs in the comfortable, chic, classy atmosphere.

When we pulled up to the house, my jaw nearly dropped. After what seemed like a mile of perfectly manicured lawn, there sat a large, white stone house. House is a bit of an understatement. It has towers. Like…legitimate turrets on the one side—tall and white, with dark brown roofing.   I was half waiting for some lovely British queen to open the window up and let all the wildlife and flora and fauna flutter gently into her room. She’d also be singing while she did this.

“This house is insane.” I whisper for the hundredth time, and Santos wrinkles his nose at me.

“Wait til you see this.” Emily walks us through the large hallway, into a huge, open room. The floors are sand colored stone tiles, matched with plain white walls. All the furniture is white, and slate gray, with pops of blue making it seem both modern, and cozy at the same time. A few couches, a fireplace, and a large amber colored coffee table make up the majority of the room. We walk through, and I see a huge kitchen to the left. I catch a glimpse of old, dark wood floors, a huge wood butcher block island and an even bigger dining area.

“How often does your mother stay here?” I ask Emily, following her through the rooms.

“Just during Christmastime. She usually stays until the end of January.“ Emily leads us out through wide French doors, and onto an enclosed patio room. We are surrounded by windows, which gives us a breathtaking view out to a stone patio and the gorgeous, blue waterfront.

“Welcome to Sandbanks.” Emily opens the doors wide, creating an indoor/outdoor effect, where one space seamlessly flows into the other.

We step out onto the stone patio, and I am speechless again. A long forest green lawn leads to a gorgeous harbor. Boats dot the water, and it’s hard to tell where the sky starts and the water ends. I’ve never been anywhere like this. The house and the view outside of it is incredible. It feels freeing, cleansing. Especially after being in New York for my whole life. Cars and pollution and people have been replaced with the calm sound of the harbor, fresh air, and a lot of open space. One thing the big apple doesn’t have—a lot of space.

“Insane?” Santos looks at me with a grin. I nod.

“I could stay here quite a long time and be very happy.” I look around, taking in the lush landscaping, the trees and plants that border the lawn, making it seem quite private as well as just plain beautiful to look at.

“Well you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” Emily chuckles. “We’ve got an acre of land, which is pretty incredible. Some days even when there’s fifteen people staying here, I might only see one or two people some days.” She points out to the water. “That’s Poole Harbor. There’s some beaches within walking distance, and we’re close to pubs and shops.” She takes a deep breath, and leans against an outdoor chair that sits at a wide wrought iron patio table.

“Thank you again for having us. Santos was scared to leave me alone for the holidays.” I smiled and crossed my arms over my chest.

“I’m just sort of shocked you haven’t been here before.” Emily pauses and shrugs, then grabs my arm and tugs me back toward the house. The three of us walk intertwined for a minute, like we are going to Oz.

“It’ll be nice to have a normal holiday for once.”

“I know a lot about Santos’ crazy family. Is yours a little bonkers as well?” Emily asks gently. I smile and nod.

“A little, yes.” I don’t quite feel like diving into the deep pool, so I just smile and nod and Emily seems to understand.

“Last time I was here, I got so drunk on Pimm’s and then sang karaoke…right over there.” Santos points to an overstuffed armchair in the corner of the living room. Emily snorts with laughter and nods.

“It was painful. Let me take you guys up to your rooms, and you can get settled in. Once my mom gets back, we can help her get things together for dinner.” She suggests, and directs us up a set up stairs.

 

 ****

 

"This house is insane." I bump into Santo's back as I shuffle behind him, following him around his nearly identical room.  After I unpacked my things, and poked around in my room for a bit, I discovered that Santo’s room connected to mine via a shared bathroom.

“Stop saying that.” He grins. The rooms themselves aren't that big, but they are beautifully decorated and very comfortable.  One side of the room has a sloped, angled ceiling with a big window that overlooks the harbor and the yard.  There’s a single bed against the other wall.  Everything screams old English seaside.  Muted blues and grays, old, dark wood floors and warm, heavy blankets on the bed.  There’s a cozy looking chair in the corner, with a little reading lamp. 

“Sorry. You warned me it was an amazing house…but this…” I watch as Santos throws his duffle bag onto his armchair, and then flops down onto the bed, his feet hanging off the end. I nudge him over, so there’s space for me to sit next to him. He sighs, and I can tell he’s tired.

"Now you know why I come here every year.  It beats my asshole parents...both sets of them.  And Emily's family is probably the nicest people you will ever meet.  Her mother is a saint.  You just want her to hold you, and rock you to sleep while singing lullabies." Santos sighs and flips onto his back, looking over at me.  I laugh, leaning against him.

"Must be nice." I feel the fatigue from the trip settling over me.  It is almost 7pm, but in New York it is nearly midnight.  I'm still on New York time, so I feel nearly ready to pass out.

"Must be nice." Santos mimics me, sighing as we both fall into a bit of a jetlagged stupor. We’re quiet for a few minutes, and I can feel my eyes getting heavy. Santos is breathing slow and steady, and I’m pretty sure he’s almost asleep.

“I might go take a nap while I have a chance.” I sit up, dragging myself off the edge of the bed. Santos moans in reply, but doesn’t move. He’s always been good at falling asleep nearly instantly. I pat him on the butt, and then slip out of his room and into my identical one.


	5. December 2010: Tom/Will/Gracie/Jamie

It feels good to be somewhere new, somewhere filled with such positive energy. It is practically oozing out of the walls. The fresh air, the water, the good company. I’ve been worried about my job lately—wondering if my part time position at the gallery will change to something full time, as I’d been promised. It is freeing to be able to step away from it all. Especially during the holidays, which I can’t say are my favorite time. While everyone else is full of Christmas cheer, I mostly trying to forget all the times as a kid where Christmas was completely skipped over, or the time my father showed up drunk and angry during what was supposed to be our holiday dinner. But those are stories for another day.

I close the door softly, and then climb onto my little twin bed, sinking into the comforter and closing my eyes. Visions of sugar plums dance in my head. Wait, no, I think those are just regular plums. I have no idea what sugar plums are. Either way, I’m just sort of hallucinating from jet lag.

I’m not sure if it’s a few minutes later, or possibly quite a bit of time, before I hear some noises outside of my door, followed by a few light taps on my door. I’ve drifted in and out of a jetlagged sleep, and I feel a bit groggy. I open my eyes, blinking slowly as I notice the light in the room has changed, and it’s gotten considerably darker.

“Yes? Come in.” I expect it to be Santos, ready to start the nights festivities, but I’m surprised when it’s Emily. She pokes her blond head in the door, smiling broadly. She is a gorgeous girl, with classically beautiful features.

“Oh gosh, sorry, lovey. Were you sleeping?” She frowns and looks as if she’s going to leave.

“No, it’s fine! I was just napping, but please, come in.” I smile, sitting up a bit. Emily looks apologetic and she hesitates at the door. She’s always been very sweet. Although she comes from a privileged background, she’s always been extremely down to earth and easy to talk to. She’s more of Santos’ friend, but I’m hoping this trip will help us become a bit closer.

“I guess Santos is napping too? I just knocked on his door and I got nothing.” She asks. I sit up, nodding.

“I think so. Jetlag sort of just hit us and that boy needs his sleep.” I push my hair from my face, knowing I must look a little travel worn.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to introduce you to my brother. Santos has never met him before either.” Emily opens my door a bit wider, and I can see someone just behind her, waiting in the darkened hall.

“Oh! I’d love to meet him.” I nod, standing up quickly. Emily steps into my bedroom, her brother stepping in after her.

I’ll be honest. I don’t recognize him at first. He looks different than when we met a month ago. He’s still tall, and impossibly lean in the most interesting way. Strong, but not bulky. Agile looking, and more imposing in size than it seems he should be. But the person I remember was golden, like a ray of sunshine. All blond and curly and tanned skin. The man that steps into the room has dark, nearly black hair. It’s still on the longer side, but it’s straighter, with just a slight wave. His skin is pale, though it does nothing to hide the strong, angular jaw and those killer cheekbones. Obviously, his clothes are different as well. He’s traded in tshirts and swim shorts for black trousers, a dress shirt, and a soft, worn in looking black cardigan.

I feel a thousand things rush through me. A bit of panic, a bit of shock, mostly a lot of confusion.

“Gracie, this is my big brother, Tom. Tom this is Gracie, my friend from college.” Emily introduces us, but it sounds as if she’s standing from across an ocean, shouting. It’s Will. It’s Tom. It’s _the_ Tom. The Super Slutty Adventures in the Caribbean Tom. The Let’s Do This and Never Talk about It or See Each Other Again Tom.

I’m confused by his hair, and his much paler skin, but I know it is him. I could never forget that face. And, he’s looking right at me with this blue eyed, intense stare. And oh dear god, I remember that stare. Except the last time I saw it, he was on top of me, and we had on a lot less clothes.

“I…” A noise comes out of me that isn’t quite a word. Emily pauses and looks at me, unsure of my reaction. Tom hasn’t moved either, and we are both stuck in this chokingly awkward staring contest.

Tom seems to snap out of it faster than I do, and he steps forward, holding out a hand.

“Gracie. Nice to meet you.” He moves until he’s right in front of me, blocking us both from his sister’s view. With his back to his sister, Tom slowly raises one eyebrow at me, looking down at me from his much taller height. He has this ridiculous, tiny little grin on his lips and I have to bite mine to keep from smiling.

This isn’t funny. It’s not funny at all. It’s embarrassing. It’s mortifying. Okay, it’s maybe a little funny.

My eyes drop to his hand. He is suddenly inches away from me, and the space in the room seems to get infinitely smaller.

“Nice…” I trail off, still unable to totally comprehend what’s happened. I let Tom shake my hand, and the warm press of his much larger hand on mine helps to bring me back down to earth.

“Did I hear elusive, famous older brother? Or am I imagining things?” The connecting door between my room and Santos’ opens up, and Santos comes sauntering in. Tom finally breaks eye contact with me, and turns smiling.

“Not imaginary. Totally real.” Tom holds out a hand to Santos, and Santos grabs it, then pulls him into a hug. They smack each other on the back, hugging as if they are long lost best friends. I’m sure Emily has talked to each other them about the other.

“Nice to meet you, man! I’ve heard so much, but every time I’ve been on ‘your side of the pond’, you’ve been off doing something for work.” Santos says. Tom nods and I watch him, taking in every little detail that I can. He seems taller than before. Taller and perhaps older. But maybe that is the hair. It is surreal to see him here, in this world, and not back in my fantasy vacation world.

“Yeah, I stay pretty busy. It’s nice to meet you too.” Tom pats Santos on the back, and Santos looks ridiculously pleased to have met him.

“I guess you’ve met Gracie? My little wifey.” Santos walks over to me and slings an arm around my shoulders, dwarfing me as well as making me hunch over rather unattractively. Tom’s eyes light up, and he looks at me, amused and confused all at the same time. I pull my lip into my mouth, not sure what to say. Did I really have a vacation fling with Emily’s brother?! How is that even possible?

“Yes. We’ve met.” Tom crosses his arms over his chest, and we both stare at each other. Santos looks from Tom to me, and then back again, and I avoid his eyes. If I look at Santos, he will be able to instantly read my mind and he’ll begin prying. I feel Santos’ curiosity piqued, but I quickly slide out from under his arm. Emily is staring at her brother, looking like she wants to murder him, and I can feel my face flushing.

“Well, I need a drink!” Santos declares, and then pinches me hard on the back of my arm. Emily exclaims in agreement, and begins corralling her brother out of my room. We follow them out, and Santos is right on my heels.

“You better explain why Emily’s brother was eye fucking you, and why you look like you have seen that man naked.” Santos hisses into my ear as we walk down the hall. I nearly choke on my own spit.

“Later. Shut up.” I hiss back, shaking my head. Santos’ eyes get huge and he mouths “Oh my god!” to me, while shaking like some child at Christmas. It’s not a far fetched comparison. Emily and Tom are far enough away, and having their own conversation about what the best Christmas drink is, so I know they don’t hear Santos giggling with girlish glee. Nothing makes his happier than gossip.

We walk down the staircase, and through the main foyer, back toward the main living area.

“Do you guys want Pimm’s? Tom brought a bunch of champagne.” She calls out, as we walk into the kitchen. Santos has calmed down, but I know the first chance he gets he’s going to pounce on me.

“Sure. Can I help?” I ask. The kitchen is bright, and there’s two other people in it, bustling around. One I instantly recognize as Emily’s mother. She looks like an older version of Emily, her hair short and silver white. Next to her is a gorgeous girl with dark, sleek hair who is busy stirring something on the stove.

“Tom can do it.” Emily shrugs, and scrunches her nose at Tom. He smiles at her and then goes to work. I watch as Tom moves comfortably around the kitchen, grabbing glasses and an ice bucket.

“Mum, Santos is here.” Emily winks at us, and her Mom looks up from putting away groceries, smiling broadly

“Mrs. Hiddleston, you look beautiful as usual.” Santos steps forward.

“Santos! You bad boy. Always such a charmer. Come here!” She opens her arms and Santos swims into them, as if he’s finally home. “And who is your friend?” She directs her attention to me, as she hugs Santos.

“That’s Jamie.” I hear a small, quiet mumble from my right side, where Tom is plunking ice cubes into glasses. I see him out of the corner of my eye, and I swear he’s grinning.

“Mom, this is my friend Gracie Bell, from uni.” Emily glares at Tom for a second, obviously confused and annoyed by his strange behavior. Santos releases Mrs. Hiddleston and begins blinking rapidly. I’ve told him about “Jamie”. Santos knows all about my slutty alter ego. He suddenly looks like he’s just been told the meaning of life, and his eyes get so big I’m sure they will pop out of his head. I shake my head imperceptibly at him and then turn to Emily’s mother.

“So nice to meet you, Mrs. Hiddleston.” I smile, and try my best to act normally. My heart is beating rather erratically in my chest.

“Oh! Emily’s told me about you, darling. The artist!” Mrs. Hiddleston smiles and hugs me. Santos was right. A hug from her is like coming home. I hug her back, not able to hide my smile.

“Yes, I work at a gallery.” I reply. I can feel Tom staring at me, and when I dare to glance at him, he looks intrigued. We really don’t know anything about each other, aside from…well…

“Ah, yes. And please, call me Dotty.” She smiles warmly. I nod as I feel Tom walk up to my side. He has glasses in his hand and he holds one out to me, and one to his mother.

“Cheers, ladies.” He smiles. I take the glass from him and take a sip. I may need a lot of alcohol to get through this week.

“Thank you.” I manage. We all gather in a loose circle with our drinks. Santos stands next to Mrs. Hiddleston, still charming and flattering her. I watch as the woman with dark hair walks up to Tom, and puts an arm around his waist. She hasn’t said anything yet, but she’s looking up at Tom like some sort of lost puppy. He’s sort of ignoring her, but he puts an arm around her waist as well and then rubs her back a few times.

“Gracie, Santos,” Emily pipes up, leaning against the big kitchen island. “Since my brother is unforgivably rude…” She shoots a look at Tom. “This is Tom’s girlfriend, Jenny.”

I hear a tiny, excited gasp escape from Santos and I’m not sure whether to cry or just laugh.

“Jenny, nice to meet you.” I smile at her, and she gives me a little wave. She really is gorgeous. She has a killer body, and big, dark brown eyes. She hasn’t said anything, but something tells me that her personality may leave something to be desired.

“You too.” Jenny says and then looks at Tom with another puppy dog stare. Santos raises his glass, and lets out a big, hearty laugh.

“Cheers, everyone. Tom, you could’ve made these stronger, old chap.” He says with a grin, and tosses back his drink.


	6. December 2010: A Fling with Meaning!

I step outside quickly after introductions are finished, and everyone starts bustling around to get dinner started. I feel like I might get sick, or I might just start maniacally laughing. Either way, I don’t feel like I should be around people. I slip out the French doors off the living room, and out onto the patio.

I’m blasted in the face with cold air, coming straight off the harbor. The temperature has dropped considerably since earlier in the afternoon, and with the sun down, it’s quite cold. This was a terrible idea. The culmination of so many terrible ideas.

Only I could mess up a pretty straightforward one night stand. Only I would pick the brother of a close friend. How did I even manage? And now, to complicate matters worse, he seems to have a girlfriend! I’m not sure whether to be mad, or to be resolute in the idea that I am not a one-night-stand kind of girl. Should have just stuck to my tried and true shrew routine. No one ever died of embarrassment from being a prudish museum curator. Okay, maybe died of boredom, but still.

And the worst part—the most embarrassing part—is that I sort of convinced myself that it was a fling, but a fling with meaning. He’d just been so convincing. So sweet, and genuine. We’d had quite a good time together, the night of and the day after. I’d convinced myself that I was different. I was the kind of girl that you remember. And oh, he remembered me, alright. Probably as the girl he cheated on his girlfriend with.

“Shit.” I mumble, wrapping my arms around my chest. I take a few deep, cleansing breaths. Or, I tell myself they are cleansing. I don’t feel much better. There’s no way I can go home. Leaving early is not really an option. And I don’t have the money to stay anywhere else. That’s the bad part about freeloading off of a very generous friend. If the situation isn’t ideal, then you sort of have to live with it. This situation is…not…ideal.

“Well you really dug yourself a nice, deep hole this time, eh, Gracie girl?” Santos steps outside and I roll my eyes, taking a deep breath. I don’t say anything.

“Let me get this straight. Because my spidey-senses were tingling. Like, not just tingling, they were off the charts, Richter Scale level. Is Tom your slutty friend from Punta Cana? Did you actually let all your long overdue sorority girl fantasies out on Emily’s brother?” Santos steps in front of me, and wraps his arms around me, pulling me face first into his chest. I let him hug me, but I don’t return it. I just stand pressed against him, blinking and staring unseeing into his chest.

“Oh Gracie.” He sighs and then hugs me tighter. I shake my head and feel some laughter bubble in my throat. It’s not funny. It’s the opposite of funny, but I can’t help but laugh. Only me. I feel Santos start to laugh as well, and we both just stand there for a minute, shaking with silent laughter, and shivering slightly from the cold.

“What a mess.” I breathe softly. He rests his chin on my head for a minute before shrugging.

“Well, I thought I’d be bored this week. And then look at you, coming in with your fake names and your sleazy pastimes.” He grins.

“I’m really embarrassed, Santos. We can’t tell Emily.” I plead softly. He nods.

“Don’t be embarrassed. And I don’t think she’d really care. She’d probably be annoyed with Tom, but not with you.” He offers. I figure this is true. Not that either of us really have anything to be sorry for, but Emily is that sort of person. She’d stand up for the “honor” of her friend, and berate her silly brother for being a manwhore.

“Well, please, as much as I know you like stirring the shit pot, please, don’t. Emily was so nice to invite me here, and I don’t want to ruin this week for anyone.” I ask. Santos nods and I know he’ll keep his word.

“I won’t say anything. He is gorgeous, Gracie. You did good, kid.” He lets me go and I frown at him.

“He is gorgeous.” I say softly, sighing.

“You could have another go.” Santos lifts one shoulder and directs me toward the house.

“I’m sure his girlfriend would love that.” I mumble.

“Do you think he was dating her when you met him?” Santos asks the question that’s been tumbling around in my head. I pause for a second and then keep walking.

“I hope not. I don’t know.” I say softly, as we walk back into the warmth of the house.

 

 ****

 

Dinner is an interesting affair. Mrs. Hiddleston is exactly how Santos described her. Warm, caring, and the kind of mother you only read about in fairytales. She’s sweet and genuine and absolutely dotes on her children. Santos and I sort of sit back and marvel at what it must be like to have a mother who is so perfectly wonderful. When she turns her attentions on us, we both just sort of turn pink and stammer a lot. We’re not used to the motherly attention, though it is so nice. It’s like the warmest, softest blanket on a cold day.

Emily and Mrs. Hiddleston do most of the talking during dinner. Tom is relatively quiet, and he doesn’t look at me the entire meal. At one point I am purposefully trying to bore a hole into his head with my eyes, just to see if he’ll look. He doesn’t.

“The Forresters are coming in tomorrow morning. And your Aunt and Uncle should be in in the afternoon. The last to arrive will be great Aunt Rose and your cousin Melaney. I’m afraid it’s a lot of us olds this year. Most of the kids are off doing their own thing.” Mrs. Hiddleston says with a smile as she passes around another bowl of something delicious.

“Marky is coming in tomorrow.” Emily beams. Mark is her new boyfriend. They’ve only been dating for a few weeks, but she seems absolutely smitten. I’ve met him a handful of times, and he’s a very cool guy.

“Oh great.” Tom grumbles, and sits back.

“Please, Tom.” Emily laughs and punches him roughly on the arm.

“He’ll talk about football for forty five minutes and then he’ll demand that we watch that highlights reel for another hour.” Tom grins at Emily, and it’s very apparent he’s just trying to get a reaction out of her.

“So, he likes football. Doesn’t everyone?” She shrugs and then narrows her eyes at Tom.

“Yes, but I think he _really_ likes football. Like, he wants to know it intimately. Biblically. If it were possible.” Tom grins wide, and then he looks at me and he winks. It happens so fast, it happens so quickly that I’m not sure it even actually happens. I put my fork down and I take a drink of my water, focusing on keeping it in my mouth and swallowing like a normal person.

“Shut up.” Emily laughs and Mrs. Hiddleston shakes her head at her son.

“What about you two? Santos? Anyone special? Gracie?” Mrs. Hiddleston asks, demurely changing the subject. I defer to Santos, letting him speak first. The favorite part of being the only single at a dinner—answering the question ‘Are you seeing anyone special?’

“I won’t lie, for a moment, I thought there may have been something between me and Marky-poo.” Santos raises an eyebrow at Emily, who laughs. “But, no, not at the moment. The well seems a bit dry for once. It’s good though, Mrs. H. I’m focusing on my career, etcetera, etcetera.” Santos waves his fork as he talks. Mrs. Hiddleston nods, looking satisfied with his answer.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone soon, Santos. You’re quite the catch.” She nods. “You know, my accountant is gay. He’s quite good looking too. I bet you’d get along.” She nods matter-of-factly. Tom blinks twice and then puts a hand over his mouth, suppressing something, most likely a laugh. Emily looks at her mom, her mouth open.

“Mum! Please! Santos doesn’t just…date anyone.” Emily shakes her head. Mrs. Hiddleston looks amused and she giggles. Santos laughs good naturedly.

“Well, if he’s cute, I might as well meet him.” He shrugs.

“Oh darling, I didn’t mean anything rude by it.” Mrs. Hiddleston reaches over, grabbing Santos’ hand and squeezing.

“No offense taken. I actually appreciate the extra lookout, Mrs. H.” He grins, rubbing her hand. She looks at me then, and I am suddenly aware that there are five sets of eyes turned to me, waiting for my answer. I swallow, and I consider making up a fantastic boyfriend for a minute, but I know I can’t quite pull that off.

“Um. Same as Santos. No one really. Just…you know, focusing on my career. I actually just got a promotion at work. So I’m finally doing gallery work.” I say, my voice sounds stilted and weird. Saying it out loud sounds sort of lame and a little sad. Tom is watching me, though I can’t honestly say that I think he’s listening. He has this weird, plastered looking smile on his face. His girlfriend, Jenny, is sitting next to him, and I can see her hand resting on his thigh. Ooph.

“That must be great work.” Mrs. Hiddleston says, looking genuinely interested.  Bless her.

“Yeah. You know, you and Tom probably have a lot in common. You both like old, dead guys.” Emily chirps up, motioning between the two of us. I frown.

“Oh?” I have no idea what Tom does for a living. I made sure of that back in the Caribbean. I just know he’s never around. I look at him, and he meets my eyes.

“What do you do?” I ask softly, the words falling out of my mouth. He presses his lips together, and stares at me for a second before taking a sip of wine and then running a big, capable hand through his dark hair. Hello, where did that observation come from? It shouldn’t matter to me how big his…hands are. Or how capable they are. As long as he has hands, that’s all I need to know. Or even if he doesn’t have hands. Either way. It’s really none of my business, to be honest. Am I babbling?

“I’m an actor.” He says, rather humbly. As if he’s not quite used to saying it.

“Really?” I suddenly feel my stomach drop. An actor. Something about that makes me feel terrible. He’s an actor. So he’s good at faking things. Faking feelings and emotions. I wonder how often he plays the part of “Will.” Silly, silly girl I am. Thinking that the man I met a month ago perhaps had been someone just a bit special. A diamond in the rough. Sure, it had been a fling, but it had been a fling with meaning, dammit!

“Yes. He’s fantastic too, Grace. He’s just signed on for a huge movie. It’s based on the comic—“ Emily starts rambling but Tom stops her, smiling and holding up a hand.

“Em, I don’t think everyone wants to be bored with the details of my work.” He offers.

“No, please. I’d love to hear about your acting. You must be a really, really great actor. I’ve always been fascinated by acting. All the drama, all the lies, pretending to be one thing and really being something else.” I say with a nod. He looks at me, tilting his head slightly. There’s a bite to my voice that I can’t quite hide.

“You look like you’d be pretty good at pretending to be someone else, as well.” He says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I hear Santos start to wheeze sitting next to me, but I don’t look at him. I merely pinch his leg under the table.

“What…are you talking about?” Emily frowns and looks at her brother. Out of context, our conversation honestly doesn’t make much sense. Tom blinks and then breaks eye contact.

“Mum, Jenny and I are celebrating three weeks together tomorrow.” He looks at his mom, ignoring his sister and changing the subject in a rather obvious way.

“Oh? How lovely!” Mrs. Hiddleston smiles at him, not seeming to notice the all around awkwardness that had just been exchanged.

“Right. We met right after I got back from holiday with Em. It was perfect timing.” Tom glances at me, his look level and somewhat challenging. I look away, feeling something roll and boil within me.

“I remember, yes. Are you doing anything special?” Mrs. Hiddleston asks.

“Tom said he’d take me to dinner, but we won’t be long. It’s Christmas Eve, so we wanted to be here with the family.” Jenny smiles, speaking for what seems like the first time all evening. She doesn’t say much. She’s the sort of girl that seems more there for decoration than anything else.

“Take her to Salterns.” Emily pipes in. Tom shoots his sister an annoyed look.

“Yeah.” He nods, annoyed that she’d suggest something so obvious.

“What is Salterns?” Santos asks.

“A fancy schmancy restaurant. I’m sure he can afford it now that he’s making the big bucks.” Emily grins wide at him, and Tom scowls at her for a moment.

“He better take me somewhere fancy!” Jenny says, slipping an arm around Tom’s waist and pulling him toward her. She rests her head on his shoulder, and Tom smiles, but doesn’t quite return the hug. Interesting. I’m like Nancy Drew over here. Girl Detective.

“Three weeks is a long time for you, Tommy.” Emily says. I can tell they like pushing each other’s buttons. Tom grins at Emily, all teeth.

“Well, when you find the right girl.” He says as Jenny melts against him, looking up with big, bright eyes. I look away, feeling rather strange. Do normal people get themselves into these situations? Having dinner with a fling and his new girlfriend? Something about this feels rather sadomasochistic.

“I’m feeling pretty tired. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to head to my room and get some sleep.” I hear myself talking before I’ve even given myself time to think. I must be more tired than even I’ve realized. My thoughts and my actions aren’t really on the same page.

I quickly thank Mrs. Hiddleston for a delicious dinner, and she stands and gives me a hug goodnight. The sweetest woman. I give a general, awkward wave goodnight to everyone else, and then I excuse myself quickly.

I think I’ve had enough for one day. Enough for one long, unbelievable day.

I catch Tom’s eye as I leave the table. He is watching me, his lips parted slightly, like he wants to say something. I avoid his eyes and I turn away. I don’t know that we have anything to say to each other.

The simple truth is, there is nothing I should really be mad about, or even all that annoyed. We made no promises to each other. We both knew it was a one time thing. My gut reaction seeing him had been rather confusing. Embarrassment, panic, worry, and perhaps a little bit of shocked excitement. But in all honesty, he owes me nothing. Even if he had cheated on Jenny with me (which he hadn’t), I couldn’t really have been mad at him. It had been sex. Just sex. It was no one’s fault that it turned out to be not quite as anonymous as we’d intended.

I leave the dining room quickly, making my way through the maze of halls and toward the stairs to the second floor. I can’t help but remember the last time I saw him. The last night we’d spent together.

After bumping into each other at the waterfall, we’d ended up back at his room again. I don’t know how it happened, but I spent a second night with him. it was against all the rules, but I just could not help myself.

It had been nearing two or three in the morning, we were lying, our legs and arms intertwined in a heap of twisted sheets and blankets. His head had been on my chest, and I had my hands in that perfect, messy blond hair. He had some candles lit throughout his little bungalow room, and they flickered and glowed off of his tan skin. He positively glowed.

“Tell me something about yourself, Gracie.” He asked, his voice deep and throaty. I smiled, my eyes half closed, lulled into relaxation by the amazing things that had taken place in the past few hours.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I whispered. He moved, resting his chin on my breastbone, his blue eyes finding mine. His face was so lovely. All cheekbones and a perfect, heart stopping smile.

“Why?”

“Because this was supposed to be a one time thing, and now…it’s been a two time thing, plus some hanky panky at a waterfall.” I grinned, closing my eyes. The afternoon at the waterfall had been, well, nothing short of amazing.

“Hanky panky? That’s adorable.” He chuckled. “You could tell me something about yourself and we could make it a reoccurring thing.” Tom said softly. I opened my eyes, just barely. He scooted up slightly, coming up and leaning on his arm that he slipped behind my head. I licked my lips, then reached up and ran a finger over his mouth. He had a thinner top lip, and a slightly lusher bottom lip, but they were made for kissing. For kissing and being kissed.

“I can’t, Tom.” I breathed.

“But you’re fantastic. And I want to see you again.” He said softly, looking down and running his fingertips down between my breasts. He moved slowly, running over the swell of my breast, and then across my nipple. I felt my breath hitch, and I shifted, wrapping my leg around his thigh. He pushed against me, his pelvis rolling into my hips.

“I just got out of a relationship. Something really serious.” I said, my voice breathless as he rocked against me, and kept kissing my throat and shoulders. “He…broke my heart. I don’t think I am in place to try something else. Especially not something long distance. And judging by that entirely too sexy accent of yours, I’m guessing you’re not from New York.” I smiled softly, then leaned toward him and kissed his throat. He groaned softly, and I felt the noise vibrate in his throat and into my lips.

“He’s an idiot, Gracie. I’m sorry to hear that.” Tom leaned down and pressed tiny, soft kisses along my jaw. I ran my hands into his hair again, rubbing against his scalp, which made him moan. It hadn’t taken me long to find his weaknesses. His hair and the sides of his neck. Both places I was more than eager to rub, massage and kiss.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t go to New York often, but I travel a lot. I’m a—“

“Shh, don’t tell me anything about you. Please.” I stopped him, pressing a finger to his lips. He smiled, and looked away, shaking his head.

“You’re something else, you know that?”

“I leave tomorrow. You are like no one I’ve ever met before, Tom. I can’t get attached. I won’t. The less I know, the better.” I said gently. He looked down at me, his blue eyes darkened and serious. He ran a hand over the side of my face, and then down behind my neck. Tom lifted my head slightly, bringing it up to meet his. He kissed me, hard and passionate, his mouth crushing against mine, his tongue sliding somehow rough and smooth at the same time against my own. It was like he was trying to make sure I’d remember him.

How could I have forgotten him?


	7. December 2010: The Mysterious Stripper

I burrow deep under the covers, luxuriating in the warm little cocoon I’ve made. The house is wonderfully quiet, the soft lull of the harbor outside the only noises. I’m not sure what woke me up. Then, there is a light tapping on my door. Santos? Poking my head out from under the covers, I blink as the early morning light filters softly through the gauzy drapes.

“Come in.” I say softly, my voice a bit gravely. My head feels fuzzy, and I’m guessing the time change is still playing with me. The door opens a few inches slowly, and then a dark head slips in. Tom.

“Hi. Can I come in?” He asks, looking shy as he holds the door open just enough for his head to fit inside. I start to sit up, before remembering I’m only wearing a tank top and underwear. I freeze, holding the comforter to my chest.

“Um, give me two seconds?” I ask quietly. Tom nods and then disappears, closing the door silently behind him. I slide out of bed, the colder air hitting my bare legs. Quickly riffling through my luggage, I pull on a pair of yoga pants. I grab the best, most padded push up bra I own and I quickly jam my arms through the straps, then shimmy back into my tank top. Sure, the man has already seen me naked. Sure, he has a girlfriend and most likely hates that I exist. At least the girls can look good. I check my reflection in mirror by the dresser, trying my best to get that sexy “just woken” tousled look. It is a little bit more “I’m a restless sleeper” than sex kitten, but I work with what I’ve got. I pull on a lightweight zippered hoodie, and then jump back onto the bed, sitting up and cross legged on the comforter.

“Okay.” I call out. The door opens again, slowly, and Tom slips inside, shutting it softly behind him. Why is he here? It’s strange. More than strange, but I’m intrigued. I’m also surprised to see he’s already dressed for the day in jeans and a dark navy sweater. He looks good. Comfortable, down to earth. He has two mugs in his hand and he hands me one as he hesitates at the edge of the bed, then sits down on the chair a few feet away.

“Good morning.” He says softly. His dark hair looks freshly washed, and is a bit messy around his face. He looks so different from what I remember, but still the same somehow.

“Good morning.” I mimic, holding the warm mug in my hands. He’s made me tea. The man has made me tea. I look down and I can see it’s light caramel color. Tea with milk.

“I don’t know how you like your tea, so I made it for you how I make mine.” He says. His voice is gentle, calm and soothing. Strange.

“This is good. Thank you.” I nod, and lift the cup to my mouth. Tom watches me, his blue eyes following my movements. The tea is hot, but not scalding. It’s sweet and milky, and perfectly soothing.

“How do you normally take it?” He asks, looking genuinely interested.

“Usually just some sugar, but I like this.” I nod, lifting up the mug. This is weird. Very weird. Having this strange little conversation with him.

“Good. Great.” He sits forward, leaning his forearms on his knees. We’re both quiet for a moment, just sort of sitting across from each other, not talking. I take another sip and then stretch my legs out in front of me.

“Tom?” I say gently, and he looks up. “Did you need something? Or want to talk about something?” I ask, tilting my head slightly. I can feel my pulse in my throat. He licks his lips, nodding.

“Yes. Listen. Gracie.” He sets his mug down, and I notice that he likes to talk with his hands. “I wanted to apologize. I wanted to apologize for last night at dinner.” I could not be more surprised than if he told me his name was actually Reginald Archibald Theodore the 4th.

“Oh?” I breathe.

“Yes. The truth is, I was really, very…very shocked to see you yesterday. I’m…pleased to see you—“ He starts, and I barely hide my sarcastic smile. I’m sure he’s so pleased to see a vacation fling. “No, I really am. I was just surprised, and...I was unforgivably rude at dinner.” He sighs and then sits up, his eyes searching my face.

“I was surprised to see you too, Tom.” I chew on my lower lip.

“I don’t know that it matters, but I wanted you to know that I wasn’t with Jenny when I met you. I was single when I met you.” He says this in a soft, confessional way. I blink, and then chew absently on my lip again. So he cares what I think about him.

“I…guess it doesn’t really matter, but thank you for telling me, all the same. I’ve never been much of a homewrecker.” I smile and Tom laughs.

“You are far too sweet for that.” He grins. I shrug and then look at him.

“I’m glad you were single. I have…fond memories of that vacation, and I think that would have somehow tainted it.” I say this and immediately regret it. Tom stops laughing and he looks at me with those calm blue eyes.

“I have fond memories of it as well.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“I never expected to…see you again.” I say carefully. “I think we both were a little unsure of how to handle things yesterday.” I stare down at my tea. I can see Tom nod out of the corner of my eye.

“I think it’s best if we keep it between you and I. I mean, don’t tell your sister or your family.” I ask, looking up at him. The last thing I want is for his family to think I’m some hussy who sleeps around with strangers on vacation, no matter how true it may be. I just don’t want Emily to know that it was with her brother. Tom clears his throat, looking uncomfortable for a split second.

“Yes, I agree. It’ll just make this complicated. I mean, we are adults. We were on vacation. We were having a good time. We were attracted to each other…no harm done, right?” He asks, and I am stuck on the ‘we _were_ attracted to each other’ part.

“Yes.” I manage.

“So maybe we can just start over?” He asks, and he stands up, then moves over and perches on the side of the bed. It’s already a small bed, but with him on it, it seems absolutely miniscule. My knees bump into his lower back as he turns to me. I can’t help but focus on how strangely familiar his face is. I don’t know him that well. I’ve spent a minimal amount of time with him, but yet his face…I somehow have managed to memorize his face. The angles, the lines.

“Nice to meet you. My name’s Gracie.” I hold out my hand and Tom breaks into a huge grin. His cheeks dimple, and the laugh lines show up by the corner of his eyes. Good lord.

“Enchanted, Gracie. My name’s Tom.” He takes my hand in his, holding it firmly, then lifts it up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it. I watch him, barely breathing as his lips brush against my skin. Hello, flashbacks! I pull my hand quickly from his as Tom moves to stand up.

“I’ll see you downstairs?” He asks, grabbing his mug off the nightstand. I nod.

“Yup.” I agree. He flashes me a sweet, almost boyish smile and then opens the door to leave. He must nearly run into someone, because as he steps out and closes the door, I hear him start talking. It is quiet enough, and the door is thin enough that I can make out the conversation.

“What were you doing?” It is Jenny. She must have been looking for him.

“Hey babe. I was just talking to Gracie.” Tom’s voice sounds hurried, and a bit annoyed.

“Why? About what?” Jenny asks, and then their voices start to move, getting farther away and harder to make out. I sigh, flopping back onto my pillow.

“Nice to meet you, Tom.” I whisper softly into the air.

 

 

It seems only fitting that on Christmas Eve, you get good and drunk sitting around a fire with friends and family. The day was full of meeting new people, and preparing for Christmas. The Hiddleston’s family friends, the Forresters, arrived just after breakfast. The Forresters consisted of Barb and Bradley Forrester and their seven year old daughter, Kimmy. Kimmy spent the entire day running through the house, challenging people to be the dragon to her princess.

Next up was Tom and Emily’s great Aunt Rose and her daughter, Melaney. They were both quiet people. Melaney was in her forties, divorced, and was very good at making worrisome faces at Kimmy as she ran through the house.

The last guests to arrive were Aunt May and Uncle Timothy—Mrs. Hiddleston’s sister and husband. They were both in their sixties, and could have been stunt doubles for a thinner version of Mr and Mrs Claus. Although instead of milk, Uncle Tim usually was carrying around a snifter of brandy. Somewhere in between all of that, Emily’s boyfriend Mark had shown up, though I didn’t see much of either of them once he arrived.

It was a little after eleven, by the time the “kids”, as Emily and Tom had started referring to us, had any time alone. The “olds” (a name they didn’t particularly enjoy, but Tom thought was hilarious) had all gone to bed and the house was quiet, and surprisingly cozy for being so big. I sat on one of the big couches, watching Tom try to start a fire in the large fireplace.

“This shouldn’t be so hard, but I think I’m already sort of drunk.” He laughs and looks over his shoulder at me. I get up, begrudgingly, from the couch and walk over.

“Alcohol and fire. Good mix.” I kneel beside him and we begin stacking kindling and bits of torn newspaper into the hearth.

“I found this bottle of vodka. It looks like it may be from the seventies, but it’s probably still okay, right?” Emily walks into the room, examining an ancient looking bottle. Santos follows her carrying two glasses and a tray full of snacks. I wrinkle my nose.

“We might go blind if we drink that.” I shrug.

“Oh ye of little faith.” Emily smiles and sits down, lining up a neat row of shot glasses.

“That was your job, Em. Procuring more alcohol.” Tom mumbles, his head practically inside of the fireplace. I frown, knowing that this isn’t going to end well.

“I know but Mark and I were busy.” Emily wraps a slender arm around her boyfriend, who smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry, mate. But we’ve found two bottles of whiskey, that ancient bottle of vodka and some peppermint schnapps.” Mark clunks the bottles down on the coffee table, and Santos groans.

“We are gonna be so sick tomorrow.” Santos laughs and rubs his hands together. Jenny walks into the room, carrying a bottle of beer and wearing what can only be described as a negligee. It’s a tiny silk camisole with hair thin straps, and a little pair of matching shorts. Everyone looks up as she saunters in, and I am pretty sure Tom falls into the half made fire.

“Are we going to play a game?” Jenny asks, her voice high and girlish. I grab one of the shots that Emily has poured and I toss it back. She doesn’t even notice because I’m pretty sure Emily is wondering if that’s Jenny’s nipple showing or just a trick of the light. Even Santos is staring, somewhat slack jawed.

“I’d love to play a game.” Tom says quickly, his eyes haven’t left her, and I stand up making sure to bump into him as I walk back to the couch. He catches himself, nearly keeling over.

“Jenny, what an adorable little…outfit.” Emily says, refilling the shot glass I just emptied.

“It’s just my pj’s, Emily. Thanks!” Jenny giggles and then turns around, leaning over to grab a blanket off the back of the couch. I’m pretty sure we all see the majority of her ass. Tom clears his throat and then starts flicking matches into the fireplace, rather haphazardly.

“Lovey, you’ve got a banging bod. Don’t take it as an insult, but I feel like I should be paying you right now.” Santos says gently to Jenny. Emily breaks into a loud laugh, and I cover my mouth with my hand.

“Santos.” I murmur. Tom stands up and his blue eyes are huge, but surprisingly amused.

“Oh Santos! You’re so funny.” Jenny giggles and then stands up. “Wouldn’t want to tempt you. I’ll go put on a robe.” She smiles again, and then locks eyes with Tom as walks away. I feel my stomach clench and heave. Maybe it’s the ancient vodka. Maybe it’s not.

 

 ****

 

“Okay the game works this way. Someone picks a card and reads the question, we all answer, and then that person picks their favorite answer. Whoever doesn’t get picked, has to drink. Make sense?” Emily grins, and grabs the bottle of vodka, topping off everyone’s glass. I watch as she fills my half full glass of soda with the clear liquor. We’ve already done shots, mostly of whiskey, and one of the peppermint schnapps with Santos described as tasting like an “elf’s ass”.

“NO, that makes no sense at all, but let’s play.” Santos shrugs and sticks his finger in his drink, swirling it around. Emily laughs, shrugging her shoulders and pulling out a little stack of cards.

“Basically it’s a get-shit-faced-fast game.” Tom offers, shaking his head. Emily nods and pulls the first card off the top. We are all sitting in a loose circle. Tom, Jenny and Mark are on the couches. I’m on the floor by the fire, with Emily and Santos sprawled out on the floor near me.

“I’ll go first.” Emily looks at the card, giggling softly. “Okay, first question. Where is the strangest place you’ve ever had sex.” She reads the card and then snorts with laughter. My mind starts swirling. I know my answer, but I’m not sure I’m willing to divulge. I’m thinking far too much. Need more alcohol.

“I don’t even have an answer to that question. Where haven’t I had sex? Well, I guess there was that one time in the back of the cab coming back from that New Years Eve party. And that one time in the church—“

“In the rectory?”

“Something like that. Is that what you kids call it these days?” Santos laughs. Emily nearly spills her drink and Tom just shakes his head, smiling.

“Ok, so Santos’ answer is a cab and a church.” Emily clears her throat. “Since I asked the question, I don’t think I’m supposed to answer, but mine’s the woods.” She raises an eyebrow scandalously. Mark wrinkles his nose and then gives Emily the eye.

“The woods, huh?”

“Oh, I really don’t feel like this is an appropriate game. I don’t think that I need to hear these things.” Tom cringes, and sits back, holding his cup in between his hands. Emily groans and rolls her eyes.

“Don’t be a stick in the mud.” She tips his glass toward his face. “Drink up and tell us your answer.” She says. Tom drinks from his glass and then sighs.

“I don’t know really. I guess…there was this one time at a waterfall.” He says this quickly and then looks directly at me, for all of a half a second, but it is enough time that I sort of inhale the sip I was taking, the alcohol going straight into my windpipe. I start coughing, loudly and with enough force that Santos smacks me on the back.

“Oh my.” Jenny shifts and looks at me, as I try to pull it together.

“Are you okay?” Emily asks, looking concerned. I nod, waving them off as I clear my throat. Santos frowns at me and then winks.

“OK, let’s move along.” Emily says once she sees I’m not going to choke to death.

“In a sauna.” Mark says, looking at Emily like he’s challenging her. They both smile at each other though.

“On a beach in Jamaica.” Jenny smiles demurely. Tom glances at her for a second, as if deciding whether he should care about this, but then he sits back, and looks at me. I clear my throat, having finally gotten a hold of my hacking cough.

“I’ve got nothing. I’m boring. No where weird. Just beds. Always in beds. Missionary style.” I answer quickly. Staring at him as I say it. There is no way in hell I can say the waterfall. The water fall, where the water had been warm and lovely. The day had been perfect. We’d stood by the spray of the fall, the water just past our shoulders.

“Boring. Dear god, child, live a little.” Santos groans. Emily smiles and shrugs.

“Okay, well Santos I think you win that round. Everyone else drink.” Emily points to our glasses and we all take our obligatory sips. “You go next.” She hands him the deck of cards and Santos picks one off the top. He reads it quickly, his eyes glowing.

“What’s your guiltiest guilty pleasure?” Santos asks with a chuckle.

“Boy bands.” Emily answers immediately, and we all laugh.

“Reality television.” Jenny answers with a smile and Tom groans softly. Santos shrug.

“Honey, that’s not guilty. That’s just pleasure.” He scoffs. They look at me.

“Singing really loudly in the shower.” I manage with a laugh. Santos nods.

“She sounds okay too. It’s usually shitty pop, like Miley Cyrus.” He nods.

“No, it’s not! I have good taste in shower music.” I smirk.

“What’s yours, Tom?”

“Dancing around my apartment in my underwear. To really terrible pop music. Or 70’s disco.” He smiles. I suddenly picture it, and I’m not sure what to think. He wears boxer briefs. That’s all I’ll say.

“Mark?” Jenny looks at Mark, who shrugs.

“I don’t know. I suppose watching chick flicks.” He smiles.

“Oh, that’s adorable.” I laugh, and all the women in the room coo softly.

“Nice, Mark, but sorry, Tom takes the cake on that one because hell-o! Tell me, Tom, do you prefer boxers or briefs?” Santos asks.

“Okay, next question.” Tom grins, ignoring Santos with a raised eyebrow. We all take a drink. Tom grabs another card and reads.

“Alright, next up in this depraved game. We are picking our new stripper names. To pick your stripper name, you need to combine the name of your first pet with the last name of the last person you slept with.” Tom frowns as he reads, and then lets out a loud, boisterous laugh. Emily and Santos hoot with laughter, and I suddenly find myself trying not to choke again. I can’t. I’m lame. I’m the worst. The last person I slept with is sitting in this room.

I swallow hard, wracking my brain.

“Oh this is a good one. Sassy Hunter.” Santos grins. “Sassy was my rabbit in sixth grade. Greg Hunter was a maitre’d at that new Japanese restaurant in Brooklyn.” He looks at me and winks, and I remember Greg. Briefly.

“Brando Moore. I guess I’m a boy stripper.” Emily sighs. Mark looks pleased.

“Cupcake Grant.” Jenny says quickly. And it dawns on me, and then maybe every else in the room that she didn’t say Hiddleston. That her and Tom haven’t slept together. Maybe it just dawns on _me,_ but I have to fight back this insane urge to maniacally laugh. I’m not sure what’s come over me. Maybe it’s the disco vodka.

“Kitten Hiddleston.” Mark says after a few second lull, breaking what seemed to be an awkward silence. Tom shifts on the couch.

“Your cat’s name was Kitten?” Jenny giggles. Mark nods with a shrug. Tom looks uncomfortable, and Emily just looks amused.

“This is not a game you should play with your baby sister.” Tom sighs.

“Sorry, mate.” Mark grimaces.

“Shut up, Tom. At least I didn’t say Brando Mayfield.” Emily says with a evil grin.

“Are you kidding me, Em? John Mayfield? For fuck’s sake.” Tom groans and rubs his hands over his face, looking honestly distraught. “John’s one of my oldest friends. I’ll murder him.” He grumbles

“Stop being such a big brother.”

“I am though. I am your big brother. And that guy is a total wanker—this is a shit game. Who suggested this?“ He says with a laugh, throwing down the card. “It’s not my turn, but I can’t even answer because…I don’t know her last name.” Tom shrugs. Oh my god. Does Tom know my last name? Or is he talking about someone else?

“Me either. I can’t answer.” I shake my head.

“Why not?” Santos frowns.

“Because I…just can’t.” I am a terrible liar. Santos blinks and then I see all the answers to the universe seeming to bloom in his eyes.

“Okay, well, Gracie _Bell_. “ He emphasizes my last name and then looks at Tom and smiles sweetly. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think it’s time for Tom to pick a winner and then for the rest of us to drink.” Santos smiles. Tom looks at me, and then runs a hand over his chin.

“Miss Bell takes this one. So mysterious that her stripper alter ego doesn’t even have a name.” He says, and then we all take a drink, including me.


	8. December 2010: The Barely Girlfriend

“I’m going to bed.” Jenny pouts, standing up and wrapping her robe around her tiny waist. It is nearing on two in the morning, and Santos is already half passed out on the floor. Emily and Mark have been gradually moving closer and closer to each other as the night has gone on, and at this point I am just waiting for them to crawl on each other and start making out in front of everyone.

“Good night.” Santos murmurs, face down in the plush carpet.

“Go to bed, wastey face.” I poke him in the butt, and he grunts.

“Tom?” Jenny looks at Tom and gives him a wheedling smile. Tom shifts on the couch, and stands up. He kisses Jenny on the cheek, his hand resting on the top of her butt.

“I’ll be up in a bit, Jen. I’m gonna have one more.” He says. Jenny looks upset for a second, but then sighs and nods. Santos gets up a second later, looking a bit like a swamp monster coming out of the ooze, and follows her toward the stairs.

“We’re going to bed too.” Emily takes Mark’s hand, grabbing a few empty glasses to take to the kitchen. I stay where I am on the floor. It’s just the two of us left. Would it be weird to leave now? Or weirder to stay? I’m not sure, but I feel glued to the spot.

Tom settles back onto the couch, sitting across from me. The house is so quiet, the only sound is the soft crackle of the fire to my side. I can feel his eyes on me. I’m warm from the alcohol and the flames, and my head feels lovely and fuzzy.

“Are you going to stay on the floor?” He breaks the silence after a minute and I look up. I can tell he’s a bit drunk as well. He’s still clear eyed, but there’s something else there that’s not normally there. An abandonment, a wildness.

“It’s pretty comfy.” I say quickly.

“Yeah, but I have pillows and blankets on the couch. What does the floor have?” He smiles and suddenly looks like a young boy. He’s got this amazing, open, silly smile. He sits back, looking totally at ease and comfortable, his lean frame relaxed. It is hard not to remember those wonderful, sexy hours we spent together a month ago.

“When you put it that way.” I shrug.

“I’m very persuasive.” He grins, and I continue with the flashbacks. My stomach tightens and I know this is a bad idea.

Still. I get up and plop down next to him. It’s one of those wide, deep couches. I slide back and pull my feet under my legs. Tom has a fuzzy blanket on his lap, and I reach over, grabbing it off of him with a smile. He protests for a minute, but then lets me have it. I settle it on my legs and then turn slightly toward him.

“Tell me…the game from earlier...” He is only a few inches away from me, and from this distance I can see the slow steady rise and fall of his chest. I can see the light, golden hair on his arms that is such a contrast to his dark hair on his head.

“Yeah?” I lean back feeling comfortable and a little tired.

“ What would your stripper name be?” Tom asks, his eyes sparkling. He’s taken off his sweater, and has on a pair of loose sweat pants. He looks so relaxed.

“I don’t want to tell you.” I shake my head, feeling silly. So, maybe there is a chance that I’m also the last person he slept with, but I don’t know for sure. Maybe he’s had other one night stands since we met a month ago. Maybe he’s on one night stand number 62, and I’m still at one night stand number 1.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” He smiles, tilting his head back against the back of the sofa. I don’t know why I care to know, but I roll my eyes and pull the pillow I’m hugging closer.

“Fine. It’s Lucky Hiddleston.” I say quickly. Tom’s eyes are on me for a few lazy seconds. His eyes search mine, and then he looks away, a smile curling on his lips.

“Don’t. I know I’m lame, and please don’t take it as some sort of compliment. But I told you at the time, I don’t sleep around and…I just haven’t…met anyone else.” I ramble, scrunching the pillow nervously between my hands. I feel about a foot tall. Tiny, insignificant, silly—

“Mine would be Brando Bell then.” He says, cutting me off. I stop mid sentence, the words hanging. Bell.

“But you’re dating Jenny.” I say softly, unbelieving. I couldn’t be the last person he slept with.

“True. We haven’t had sex though. Not yet.” He runs a hand over the back of his neck, and then to the side of his throat, looking rather boyish and perhaps embarrassed.

“I’m shocked.” I manage. He laughs and looks at me with those blue eyes.

“Don’t be. I told you as well that I don’t sleep around.” He shrugs. I scrunch my nose.

“I hardly believed you. Not with that face.” I smirk and Tom laughs, looking pleased.

“Well thank you, I think.”

“Lucky Hiddleston is a pretty good stripper name, you have to admit.” I grin, trying hard not to blush. Tom pulls his long legs onto the couch and stretches them toward where I’m sitting. I watch as he slips them behind my back.

“It is.” He smiles absently.

“What are you doing?” I laugh as I feel his feet nudge behind me.

“My feet are cold.” He grins.

“Oh, you’re that kind of person?” I scold him, leaning back against his legs.

“Perhaps.” He shrugs and then buries his feet deeper between my back and the back of the couch. I sit back, and it’s surprisingly comfortable. His long legs stretched out in front of him, my knees and thighs bumping against them. I rest my arm on his knee caps, careful not to get too familiar. I feel warm all over.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” He says suddenly, his eyes on me.

“That was sort of the point.” I smile.

“Well, yes. But I wanted to see you again. And so it’s surreal that you’re here, sitting in my mum’s living room, on Christmas Eve.” He leans over, fiddling with his nearly empty cup.

“It is a bit surreal.”

“You didn’t want to spend the holidays with your family?”He asks gently. I don’t know how much he knows about my background from Emily, but I’m guessing it’s very little. I waver, not sure how much to tell him. Do I tell him the whole psycho story? Or do I give him the story I tell first dates. Just the bare minimum?

Tom is watching me, and he leans forward, offering me his mug. I don’t know what he’s drinking, but it smells wonderful. He had disappeared into the kitchen about twenty minutes ago, and had come back with a new drink. The rest of us had still been working on finishing up the whiskey, and hadn’t asked what he’d been drinking. I take a sniff. It’s a bit sweet and strong.

“Drink. And then tell me the real story.” He urges me on. I smile, chuckle softly and take the mug. I take a sip, finding it surprisingly delicious. Like sweet, buttery caramel.

“What is this? It’s delicious.”

“My specialty. Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll make you one.” He offers. I nod, and Tom pulls his feet out from behind me, and then holds out his hands to help me off the couch. I take them, and he pulls me up gently.

I follow him into the kitchen. Tom motions to one of the bar stools at the big island, indicating he wants me to sit down. I sit, leaning against the bar as I watch him move about. He adds butter, and two kinds of sugar into a sauce pan, and starts whisking them together as the butter melts.

“I didn’t know you were good in the kitchen.” I smile, sitting up a bit to try and get a better look. He looks over his shoulder, and gives me a smile. He seemed so different at first with the dark hair, but there is no mistaking that smile. So sweet and incredibly genuine, but hinting at someone a bit mischievous underneath.

“I can hold my own.” He turns back to the stove. I can’t help but stare, watching the muscles move in his back as he mixes. He’s so tall, and lean. His sweats hang low on his narrow hips, and his tshirt hangs nicely from his frame. He’s thin, but in a good way. I watch the back of his arm as he moves, the muscles flexing and spreading as he makes my drink. He adds what looks like milk or heavy cream into the pan, and then turns and looks at me.

“Darling, do you want it to be spicy or sweet?” He asks, twirling the spoon in his fingers. I feel my face flush immediately, despite myself.

“Um.” I’m quite the conversationalist.

“From what I remember, you like it a bit of both.” He smiles widely and then turns around, stirring the mixture and adding what looks like cinnamon and other spices. I know I shouldn’t say anything, but the drinking has left me a little loose lipped. Alcohol and curiosity are never a good combination.

“Why haven’t you slept with Jenny?” I say, praying my voice sounds normal. Tom turns, placing the spoon on the edge of the counter. He rubs a hand over his jaw.

“I don’t remember you being so blunt.”

“I think it’s the alcohol.”

“Then let me finish making you this drink, so we can keep talking.” He grins. I roll my eyes. He turns back around for a minute, adding what looks like rum to the pan. I didn’t know we had rum, but apparently Tom had a secret stash. He pours the mixture into a clean mug, and then refills his own.

He leans over, setting the mug down in front of me and then leaning against the island.

“Hot buttered rum.”

“Thank you.” I nod, and then blow gently on the caramel colored liquid.

“I haven’t slept with Jenny because I’m going to break up with her soon, and I think it’s best we kept it simple.” He says, looking straight ahead as he talks. I set the mug down, so I don’t drop it or scald myself. He looks at me then, and gives me a simple shrug.

“What?”

“We were pretty casual. She invited herself along this week, bought her ticket and everything. I don’t mind her company. I just know she’s not…what I’m looking for. So when we get back to London…” He trails off and then grimaces, pulling his lower lip down.

“Wham bam, thank you ma’m.” I am surprised he’s being so candid, but then again I’m pretty sure we’d both fail sobriety tests at the moment.

“Yes, but no wham bam.” He points out.

“Why? She’s practically offering herself to you on a silver platter.”

“Yes. I know. I’m very aware.” He laughs drily. “She’s too much. I could have fun with her, I know. But things are about to get really serious with my career, and I need to keep things simple. She’s the sort that could really…distract me.” He takes a gulp from his mug. I nod, looking away and trying not to let my mind go crazy.

He won’t sleep with Jenny because she’s a distraction. She’s gorgeous and more than willing and has the body of a Victoria’s Secret model, but he won’t have sex with her. So what, exactly, does he think about me? The random girl he met on vacation and shagged silly two nights in a row? And now has to sit in his mum’s kitchen and chat with during the holidays?

“Sorry, it’s really none of my business.” I say softly, then lean down and take a sip of my drink. It’s delicious.

“It’s okay.” He shrugs.

“So this movie you’re going to be in? It’s a big deal?” I ask.

“Maybe. Yes. We’ll see.” He looks bashful.

“Congrats then.” I raise my mug and he smiles and clunks his against mine. “Have you been in anything I’d have seen?” I ask. He leans against the counter, and then walks around, sitting down next to me on a stool. He’s much more animated than I remember. Energetic, excited about things. It’s rather charming, even at 2 in the morning.

“Probably not. A few British shows and a few small movie parts. I’ve done some theater as well. Anyway, enough about me.” He changes the subject so rapidly, I don’t even catch it at first. “I’ve heard a lot about Santos, and Em has been friends with him since she started uni.  It’s strange I’ve never met him until now.  Why has it taken me so long to hear about you? Have you known Emily long?” He asks.

“Not long actually.  I’ve known Santos since high school.  We’ve been best friends for awhile.  Emily was always more his friend, and that was partially my fault.  I was in a relationship until recently, and I spent most of my time with him.  So I knew Emily, but I’ve only recently become close with her.  She’s so great.” I feel a little nauseated talking about Richard.

“She is great.” Tom smiles.  “You were dating someone until recently?” He cuts right to the chase, one eye brow raised.  I can’t help but smile, my cheeks flushing.

“I was.”

Tom leans forward, urging me on.

“And?”

“And I’m no longer dating him.” I laugh.  Tom stands up, crossing his arms over his chest.  His shirt pulls up at the bottom, revealing a few inches of bare stomach. I catch a glimpse of some muscles, and a happy trail and…

“Is that what Punta Cana was about?” Tom looks as if he’s been hit by lightning. “You were getting over your ex?” He asks, speaking a bit too loudly.

“Shh! You’ll wake the whole house. And maybe. Possibly.” I shrug. He makes tiny explosions around his head with his hands and then laughs, sitting back down.

“I’ve never been someone’s rebound. Wow.”

“Not that you know of.” I smirk.

“Well then? How was I? On a scale of 1-10. How was I as a rebound?” He is so excited asking me this, I can feel the energy rolling off him.

“We aren’t having this conversation. You have a girlfriend.”

“Barely.” He winks at me, and I shove him hard on the shoulder, making him tip backwards. We are both drunker than we have realized. He waves his arms forward, grabbing my forearms to steady himself.

“You were my rebound. And you were perfectly adequate. Now change the subject.” I get up off the stool, feeling the ground shift slightly under my feet. Silly alcohol. Playing tricks. Tom is laughing and spinning on his stool to follow me as I walk around to the sink.

“Perfectly adequate? I’m wounded.” He grabs his chest.

“Tom! Shush!” I scold him as his voice gets louder.

“Fine. Change the subject. Must not talk about your multiple orgasms that you call perfectly adequate.” He says the last two words using air quotes, and I am sure I am going to die of embarrassment.

My eyes go huge and then I rush at him, slapping him with just a bit of force on the shoulders and sides and…oh…he’s surprisingly muscular. I’ve forgotten about that. And stronger than he looks. He grabs my wrists, holding them steady at my sides, and I laugh as he pushes me against the island. The granite edge digs into my lower back, but I’m still laughing.

Tom stands up then, and takes a rather steady, quick step toward me, closing the gap between us. His hands are still wrapped around my forearms and wrists. I can’t go anywhere. His thighs press against mine, and I feel as if the air has been pressed out of my lungs.

Oh, I would be a horrible person if I kissed him, right? I would be a terrible, terrible person to kiss a guy with a “barely” girlfriend. I lose my head for a moment, and I know I shouldn’t blame the booze, but I blame the booze as I ground my feet and lean into him. He lifts my arms, bending them back behind my back and pressing them into my lower back with his hands.

He smells so good. Like caramel and vanilla and rum and maybe just a bit of that terrible peppermint schnapps. I remember the way he kissed me and touched me and made me forget. I remember the way he made me laugh, and made me wish he’d been something maybe a bit more.

“Tom.” I say his name softly. He looks down at me, down the slope of his perfect, strong narrow nose. His eyes are heavy, blue like a rolling, stormy ocean. He’s breathing softly, his lips parted slightly.

“Why are you here? You didn’t have family or someone you wanted to see for the holidays?” His voice is soft, deeper and rough as he continues to look down at me. Our faces are inches apart, and I can make out his light brown eyelashes. He’s got a few freckles on the side of his neck. I fight the urge to just rise up onto my tiptoes and kiss the side of his throat. It would be so easy. And so simple. Though, not really that simple at all.

“I don’t have a family. My mom is a mess. She’s most likely getting high at this very moment. My dad is…not in the picture.” I whisper. “My aunt said there wasn’t room for me to come for Christmas at her house. So I’m here.” I tell him the truth. His eyes move back and forth, reading my face. We are still pressed together, my arms tucked behind my back, his hands keeping them there. His body is hot against mine, and I can feel his thighs, and…I can feel everything through the soft material of his sweats.

“I’m sorry. I like when we are honest with each other.” He says, his voice unemotional. There is something in his eyes though. Something charged, emotional. I don’t know if he’s referring to the fact that we once lied about our names, and now I have most definitely not lied to him about my messed up family. I’m surprised that he likes that.

I lick my lips. Kiss me, please. I don’t care if it makes me a terrible person. If it makes him a terrible person. His eyes focus on my lips.

“Honesty is good.” I say softly.

“It is. And I’m honestly very…glad you’re here.” He leans down then, and I can feel his breath against my skin. I hold my breath, as he leans down, his chest presses against mine. I feel completely alive. My skin is awake, tingling with any miniscule touch from him. His eyes are still open, a tiny bit, and we lock eyes.

“Tom?” A voice comes from the living room, from just around the corner.

We both move quickly. Tom steps away, dropping my arms. I turn away from him, feeling like I can’t breathe. I lean against the island counter, my back to the doorway. If anyone sees me now, they will know everything that was just going through my head.

“In here.” His voice is deeper than it should be and rough around the edges.

“Are you coming to bed?” Jenny comes into the kitchen but I don’t look at her. I drop my mug into the sink, and walk quickly out of the kitchen.

“Goodnight.” I say softly over my shoulder, as I brush by her. She’s back to wearing just her slinky camisole. I move quickly, out of the kitchen and through the living toward the stairs to the second floor bedrooms. It shouldn’t matter to me what his answer is, so I don’t wait to hear it.


	9. December 2010: Young Love & Slutty Christmas

On the regular, Santos and I often get drunk on cheap red wine and then pass out, waking up the next morning feeling like we are rotting from the inside out. It’s just sort of what you do when you’re in college, and you feel sort of listless, and directionless. I’d like to say that in the months since graduation, we’d moved past that point, but last night has proved otherwise.

My head is pounding. The lure of staying in bed until the end of time is tempting, but I am so thirsty I feel like it’s possible I truly may die of dehydration. I get a little dramatic when I’m hungover. The morning light is weak and gray, and a quick glimpse at the clock tells me it’s barely past seven. If I’m lucky, I can slip downstairs, get some water, and make it back to my room without running into anyone. Emily told me that Christmas celebrations usually don’t start until noon, so I have a bit more time to recuperate before I have to pull myself together and act like a functioning adult.

I steady myself on the edge of the bed for a moment, before hobbling around my room, looking for my short little robe I’ve brought with me. I have no idea where it’s gone. House elves, possibly. My little boxer shorts and an oversized tshirt with the neckline stretched out to four or five time the normal size don’t seem totally appropriate, but there’s not much I can do at this point. If I don’t get water soon, I may just keel over and die.

The house is quiet, as it was last night. I make my way down the hall and the stairs, and through the main room. Someone must have cleaned up a bit, as there aren’t any traces of our drinking from the night before. Despite all the windows, the light in the house is dim and bluish gray. The sky outside is overcast, and slate colored. It reminds me of the skies back in New York before a big snow storm, though I know it’s a little too warm for that here.

“Morning.” Emily’s voice startles me as I round the corner into the kitchen. She’s standing hunched over the sink, in tiny booty shorts and a huge sweatshirt.

“Morning. I feel like death.” I shuffle into the room and plop down on one of the barstools across from her. She grabs a glass from the cabinet for me, fills it with water and slides it across the counter.

“I do too. I’ve been dry heaving all morning.” She pulls her dirty blond hair back, and leans a hip against the counter. She doesn’t really look much like Tom. They have the same light coloring, but she’s rather petite where he is long and lean.

“Merry Christmas.” I guzzle down the water, feeling the pounding in my head intensify and then subside ever so slightly. I hand Emily the glass, and she refills it for me. She has her own glass, which sits half empty next to her.

“Happy Christmas. Welcome. This is how most Christmas morning are spent in the Hiddleston household. Hungover, dry heaving into the kitchen sink, and then having a lie in until my mother makes us get up and look presentable for Christmas dinner.” Emily says with a smile. I laugh, putting my chin in my hand, shaking my head.

“I like it. Though I feel terrible.”

“How late were you guys up last night?” Emily asks, stifling a yawn.

“Not long after you went up. Tom made me some crazy drink, and then I went to bed.” I say, trying not to think of what almost happened in between all of that. I’d somehow almost forgotten. I can’t say it was a complete surprise. We were both a little drunk. Okay, we were both really drunk. And there’s history there. But…

“So, Grace…tell me…I’ve been trying to figure it out since you got here.” Emily shifts and raises an eyebrow. “Exactly when did you and my brother sleep together?”

I choke on the water in my mouth, and instantly begin coughing. Emily’s eyes get huge, but she just smiles and waits for me. I shake my head, covering my mouth and trying not to die. How did she know? Santos? Tom?!

“Emily…” I stutter, clearing my throat. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

“No, you don’t have to apologize. Really. Although it’s gross. Not that you’re gross, but he’s my brother. And I’ve told him repeatedly not to sleep with my friends. Repeatedly. It’s not really any of my business but, I’m totally stumped as to when it could have happened. I didn’t even know you guys knew each other!” Emily seems more amused and surprised than angry, and I feel a bit of relief flow through me. The last thing I want is to cause any problems.

“I didn’t know he was your brother. I met him when we were in Punta Cana.” I say softly, covering half of my face with my hands. I can feel the blush rushing to my cheeks.

“OH?” Emily looks surprised. “That’s insane.” She knows my vacation fling story, but only minor details of it.

“I swear, if I had known he was your brother, I never would have…” I trail off. Emily shrugs.

“Again, no need for apologies. I was just so confused when I introduced you two. Tom’s so easy to read, and I knew right away that you’d already met each other.” Emily sighs and rolls her eyes. “I hope he wasn’t a jerk.” She adds quickly. I swallow hard and my mind goes to last night. The way he pressed me up against the island, in the exact spot I’m sitting in now.

“No, he was sweet.” I nod quickly.

“Spare me the details.” She groans and we both laugh. “Listen, Gracie. You’re both adults. And please don’t think I’m trying to tell you what to do.” She sighs heavily and leans forward. “I love my brother. He’s the best. He’s smart and super funny and has the biggest heart. But sometimes I think that’s sort of his problem. He loves everyone. If you get what I mean.” Emily lifts an eyebrow and then chews on the side of her lip.

“Ah…” I shift, not sure what to say.

“He really is the best. But he can be fickle, and he’s never really tied himself down to anyone. I just…don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about him. I love him, I’d never say anything about him—the cheeky bastard, but he’s sort of a whore.” Emily laughs and I laugh with her, though for some reason my stomach feels a bit sour and I can feel myself forcing the sound from my mouth.

“Thanks, Em. I like Tom. He is great. But you don’t have to worry.” I can hear the words coming from my mouth before I really truly know what I’m saying. Emily looks relieved, taking a deep breath.

“Phew!” She grins. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

I nod, pressing my lips together. Too small of a world. I take a few more gulps of water, and then slide off the stool. Today calls for more sleep, a scalding hot shower, and then maybe as much chocolate as I can scrounge up. Emily yawns again and then tips her glass of water at me.

“I’m going back to bed—“ She starts, before she is interrupted by the rumble of someone running down the stairs, followed by some loud voices.

“Don’t talk to me, Tom. Don’t even try to talk to me, you shit!” Jenny’s voice is shrill and high, and it makes my headache throb. I close one eye and glance at Emily, who looks perplexed but not surprised.

“Jenny, please, lower your voice. My whole family—“

“I don’t give a fuck about your family! You shit!” She repeats, her voice reaching another octave. Emily covers her mouth, and I can’t tell if she’s shocked now or if she’s trying not to laugh. I freeze. Maybe right now is not the time to try and go back upstairs. There’s a thumping noise, and then some cursing, and then Jenny rounds the corner into the kitchen.

Her dark hair is a swirl around her head. She’s fully dressed, including her coat and boots, and is wheeling a suitcase behind her. She has a huge hand bag wedged in the crook of her arm, and she looks so angry that I’m afraid her head might blow off.

Emily takes a step back, letting Jenny pass by. A few seconds later, Tom enters. He looks like shit, so perhaps Jenny’s “term of endearment” isn’t far off. His hair is a mess, and he has dark circles under his blue eyes. He’s wearing the same clothes from last night, but it looks as if his tshirt is on inside out.

“What the hell, Tom?” Emily mutters, and Tom shoots her an angry look.

“Jenny.” He calls after Jenny, who is making her way toward the front door.

“Fuck you, Hiddleston!” She screeches, turning around and flipping him off before opening the front door and leaving. She slams it loudly behind her, and the house falls back into an awkward, gaping silence. Emily stands with her back to me, watching her brother, who has stopped in the middle of the kitchen. We all stare at the front door, not sure what just happened. Emily puts her hands on her hips and I see her shoulders shaking. I’m almost entirely sure she’s laughing.

“Don’t.” Tom turns around suddenly, his eyes ablaze. He points a finger at Emily, his mouth in a tense line. Emily laughs but holds her hands up.

“I didn’t say anything.” She says. Tom groans and rolls his eyes, then walks over, slumping onto a stool next to me. I haven’t moved, haven’t said anything, haven’t quite made eye contact with him. He leans forward, banging his forehead against the cool granite countertop. He wraps his long arms over his head and stays there, still. He might be dead.

I look up at Emily for some guidance and she’s just standing there, staring at him, her eyes wide.

“So when’s the wedding?” She says after a minute of silence. Tom groans.

“Fuck off, Em.” He grinds out, not moving. His voice is muffled by the counter and his arms.

“Hey!” Emily exclaims, then sighs and walks around the island, sitting down next to him. She pokes him with her finger, and then slips an arm over his shoulders.

“What’d you do? Forget her birthday? Refuse to meet her parents? Sleep with your sister’s friend?” Emily coos. Tom lifts his head then, just so his eyes show over his arms and he looks directly at me. I blink. He turns to Emily, sitting up straight.

“I told her the truth.”

“On Christmas? That’s harsh, big bro.” Emily sighs. He leans back, then runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. It sticks up to the side. His arms are smooth, and pale peachy white, with a light dappling of golden hair. Such a stark contrast to his dark hair.

“She forced me into it, Em. I wasn’t…” He mutters under his breath, his jaw clenched.

“Where is she going?” I ask, finding my voice. Tom looks at me, his eyes a bluish green color. Maybe it is the morning light, or the distressed way he looks that has changed the color of his eyes.

“She’s getting a cab back to the airport.” He swallows.

“Tom, it’s Christmas. She’s not going to get a cab. You’ll be lucky if the ferry is running.” Emily points out, and Tom curses and stands up.

“What was I supposed to do, Em!? She was asking me if I wanted babies and what I saw for us in the next ten years! I barely know her. We met a month ago!” He pushes the barstool in roughly, and then stalks toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Emily shouts after him.

“To drive her to the bloody airport.” He shouts over his shoulder, slamming the front door behind him. Emily grimaces and then looks at me.

“Young love.” She sighs.

**** 

 

Christmas is full of laughter and cheer and good tidings, and Tom looking like he might murder someone if they talk to him. He’s quiet most of the time, giving clipped answers and silently threatening to cut people with his razor sharp cheekbones if they try to offer him any more mashed potatoes. Santos is sitting directly next to him, and he plops food on Tom’s plate, treating him like a little child who can’t handle making his own plate. Tom lets him, mostly just sitting and drinking table wine.

The food is absolutely delicious. Mrs. Hiddleston is an amazing cook, and Aunt May and Aunt Rose are equally talented. Dinner ends with more wine, cordials, and then a lot of hilarious family stories. Tom loosens up a bit then, and it’s also apparent that he’s had quite a bit of wine. Emily keeps poking him in the side, and shooting him dagger looks, which I think means “don’t be the sloppy drunk on Christmas”. Tom only half listens.

When dinner has been cleaned up, and everyone starts settling into their respective spots for the night, I go back up to my room to change into comfortable clothes. Emily has suggested we all watch a movie. The Foresters have already gone to bed. Aunt May and Uncle Tim have agreed to watch whatever we pick. Mrs. Hiddleston, Aunt Rose and Melaney have decided to play cards.

I quickly yank on my yoga pants and a hooded sweatshirt. I can hear Santos in his room, doing the same thing while loudly singing a tipsy version of “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.” I slide through our adjoining bathroom and then into his room. He’s changed into bright red sweatpants, and the most hideous holiday sweater I’ve ever seen.

“What is that?” I ask, blinking, wondering if I’m hallucinating.

“It’s Christmas cheer, Gracie.” He deadpans, and then laughs. He picks up a pair of fluffy, red striped socks and pulls them over his feet.

“You look like an elf.”

“But a sexy elf?” He asks, sticking out a leg and striking a pose. I laugh.

“Not the word that came to mind.” I grin. He shrugs and then walks over to the door, pulling it open and waiting for me. We make our way back downstairs, and then into the basement of the house. There is a movie room there, and I had no idea. This house is like a rich person’s maze. I just keep bumping into different, ridiculous rooms.

The movie room is surprisingly large, and has built in theater seating. The lounge chairs are huge, overstuffed and I have a feeling that as soon as I sit down, I’m going to fall asleep. Aunt May walks in, carrying a tray of glasses, with Uncle Tim close behind with bowls of popcorn.

“Drink up, loves!” Aunt May says, passing out the cups.

“What is this, auntie?” Emily asks, sitting down on Mark’s lap. I go to the back, picking a loveseat chair that looks perfect for stretching out on. Santos sprawls onto a big sofa in the middle row, looking like a strange, overgrown elf on vacation.

“Mulled wine.” Aunt May smiles. She passes a cup to me, and I smell the fragrant spices and sweet wine.

“Thank you!” I grin. Santos sits up long enough to take a glass, and kiss Emily’s aunt on the cheek, and then is back to his sprawling. Uncle Tim hands out popcorn, but I pass. I’m still stuffed from dinner.

“What are we watching?” Santos asks.

“It’s a Wonderful Life!” Uncle Tim exclaims, and he sits down in the front row, reclining into a chair. Aunt May sits next to him. I sit up, looking down at Santos, who looks happy as a clam, and as if he may fall asleep within the opening credits. Emily flicks the lights off, grabs the remote and presses play. I snuggle back into the couch. A second later, a blanket flings through the air, smacking me in the face.

“For you, darling.” Santos calls up, and I grin, wrapping my legs in it. The television screen is huge, almost as big as the wall in front of us. The room is dark, and cool and from my slightly higher viewing spot, I can see the backs of everyone’s head. Santos is lying down, and already his eyes are closed, a bowl of popcorn precariously perched on his chest. Emily is curled in a recliner against Mark in the front, and her aunt and uncle sit near her, holding hands. It’s a nice feeling. Being near such thoughtful, sweet people. It is the first Christmas in a long time that I’ve felt relaxed. That I’ve felt happy and a bit like I belonged. Usually when I go to my Aunt and Uncle’s, it is mostly me trying to lend a hand and feeling like I’m in the way. The gifts I bring are usually met with half smiles, and tossed aside, and the gifts I’m given are usually obviously second hand or completely forgotten.

The Hiddleston’s had implemented a no gift policy years back after all the kids had grown up. They give each other the gift of time—of being together at Christmas, since it is often so hard to meet up. It’s a nice thought. Although, before dinner, I saw Tom slip a small box into his mother’s hand. She had given him a stern look, but then had kissed him on the cheek and hugged him tightly. It was the first real smile I’d seen him give all day. I didn’t see what he gave her, but later at dinner she was sporting some gorgeous, sparkling diamond earrings that she kept touching.

Emily also had been wearing a gorgeous new sweater, and had been rather sweet to her brother during dinner, despite his sour mood. I’m not sure where he’s headed off to, but as soon as dinner was over he left the table.

As the credits begin, I sip my wine and settle in. It can’t be more than ten minutes in before I feel my eyes get heavy. I’m about to slip off into a Christmas dinner induced coma, when I feel someone take the cup from my hand. I open my eyes, and come face to face with Tom. He’s lit by the light from the movie, and I can make out his profile. He puts my cup on the floor, and then motions to the end of the couch where my feet are. He wants to sit. He’s changed from his dress shirt and trousers, into sweats and the nubbiest looking wool cardigan I’ve ever seen. I sit up, but he shakes his head. He lifts my feet up, then sits down, sinking into the couch, placing my feet back onto his lap. I watch him, unsure of what to do. He doesn’t look at me, but just stares ahead at the screen. Okay.

I lean down, throwing a bit of the blanket toward him, and he arranges it over my feet and his legs, without looking away from the movie. I settle back onto the couch, far too aware of the warmth of his legs against mine. He’s got on hand resting on my ankle under the blanket.

I was almost asleep a moment ago, but now I am fully awake. Every time I breath, I feel as if the whole world knows it. I’m not sure anyone else even noticed Tom has come in. Santos is most definitely asleep. He’s already spilled popcorn. Tom’s aunt and uncle are thoroughly engrossed in the movie, as are Emily and Mark.

“Are you alright?” I whisper, sitting up a bit. Tom nods, imperceptibly at first, but then he turns his head and looks at me.

“Yeah. Thanks.” His voice barely audible.

“I’m sorry. About Jenny. She seemed…nice.” I manage. Tom’s hand is still on my ankle, and he rubs his thumb slowly back and forth across my ankle bone. I don’t know that he even realizes he’s doing it.

“I wasn’t trying to ruin her Christmas.” He says, glancing back at the movie.

“She’ll be okay. She’ll have lots of fun cursing your name.” I grin. He smiles softly, and then looks back at me. His eyes are dark, and a bit unreadable. He moves his hand, running his thumb down and over the arch of my foot. Oh good god.

“You’ve got a point.” He tilts his head to the side. My hand rises to my mouth, and I run a finger over my bottom lip. He’s watching me, and it makes me feel nervous and alive. Completely awake.

“I’m going to bed soon.” He says so softly, I’m not sure if I hear right at first. My mind stutters, like a record skipping. I blink.

“Okay.” I whisper.

“Do you know where my room is?” He asks. I nod. It’s not far from my own.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Gracie.” He presses his thumb into the tender spot on the arch of my foot, and a strange mixture of pleasure rolls up my leg. Hello, sweet baby newborn Jesus. He gets up then, and disappears from the room so quickly that I’m not even sure he was there at all.

I take a deep breath, squeezing the muscles in my thighs together. I am a weak, weak, weak girl. So weak. So bad. I count to ten and then slip off the couch, and out the door behind me. Tom isn’t in the hallway, so I make my way softly through the corridor, back up the stairs. On the main floor, I can hear Mrs Hiddleston and the ladies laughing and carrying on during their card game. Excuse me, Mrs. Hiddleston, I am sneaking off to go defile your son. Please forgive me. Happy Christmas.

I make it up the stairs to the top floor without running into anyone, and then down the opposite side of the hall toward Tom’s room. The door is closed, but I can see a bit of light coming from underneath it. If I was a character in a holiday movie, my name would be Slutty Christmas.

I knock softly, and the door opens immediately. Tom is standing there, the door open just enough to see his face. He stares at me for a moment, and then pulls me inside his room. The light inside is dim. He has a lamp on, but it’s not much more than a golden glow from the far end of the room. His room is much larger than mine. He has a big bed, which is neatly made and covered in a dark blue feather comforter. I can’t stop staring at his bed. There are a lot of pillows on it. 3…4…6…at least 6 pillows, I think.

Tom steps toward me, and then I step back, almost without thinking. He’s just so tall and sort of imposing, and he’s staring at me like I’m made out of something delicious. I bump up against the door almost immediately, and he rests his hands by the sides of my head, blocking me in.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you all weekend.” He says softly, and my eyes go to his mouth.

“I noticed.” I say, and then we both sort of laugh. He steps closer, his body pressed against mine. He brushes his lips over my cheek, and then down the side of my neck. Oh god. I reach up, my hands finding his, our fingers intertwining. I need to touch him, so I push back, away from the door. He lets me move him, and we stop in the middle of the room.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” He asks, his eyes finding mine. I blink, thinking hard but maybe not hard enough.

“Just call me Slutty Christmas.” I say. Tom laughs then, out loud, and it is the sexiest sound in the world. His eyes light up, and then he is on me, his mouth crushing against mine. Flying reindeer, he tastes like mulled wine and cinnamon. I wrap my arms around his neck, pushing my hands through his hair. It’s soft, and I run my fingertips over his scalp. I feel him shiver against me as he slips his tongue against mine, his lips moving against me. He lifts me up, and then we come crashing down onto his bed.

His hands are everywhere, and I have no idea where my hands are. Do I even still have hands? Oh yes. They are on him. Touching his bare skin, under his shirt. He’s hot and hard, and the weight of him against me is so achingly delicious. A though blips into my mind that neither of us have had sex since the last time we were together. Something about this thought makes me go into uber-horny mode, and I push him off me, throwing a leg over him and straddling him.

Tom lays back, looking up at me with a rather smug, happy look on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I poke him in the chest, but then grab his hands and slide them up my sides to my breasts. We are both still fully clothed, but I can feel his erection just under my thigh, and I have a feeling if he touches me just a bit more I’ll orgasm right on the spot.

Tom sits up, pushing my shirt up, and my bra down, revealing my breasts. He groans, breathing in as he cups my breasts, pushing them together and then leaning forward.

A loud knock on the door freezes us both, and Tom stops moving, his mouth against my breast. I grab his arms, panic taking me over.

“Tom? Can you come downstairs? Aunt Rose and Mel want to hear about your new job.” Mrs. Hiddleston calls through the door.

“Fuck.” He whispers into my boobs. I tense around him, gripping his hips with my thighs.

“Don’t go.” I whisper into his ear with a laugh, as we both know he has to.

“Mum, I’ll be right down.” He says, his voice a bit pained.

“Are you alright, lovey? Are you still upset about Jenny?” She asks. Tom flops back onto the bed and covers his face with his hands.

“I’ll be down in a minute, MUM.” He says, his voice all fake cheer. He tosses me off of him, and I hold back a giggle. Tom stands up, and the evidence of our make out session is…quite obvious. He grimaces and then jumps up and down a few times, doing jumping jacks, as if he can just ‘shake it off’. I watch him from the bed.

“Don’t go anywhere.” He points at me with a raised eyebrow. I shrug and then lie back onto the bed.

“I can’t wait for you all night, Hiddleston.” I say teasingly.

“I’ll find you, wherever you go.” He says with mock anger. I smile and then relax back against the pillows, pulling my shirt back down. He shakes his head at me, and then grumbles, turning and slipping out of his bedroom.

I sigh, hoping he won’t be long.

Ten minutes turn to twenty. Twenty to thirty. I’m not sure how much longer I make it after that, because I pass out. The mulled wine has done me in. I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep before I’m awoken by the feeling of being moved. The room is dark now, and when I open my eyes I can feel Tom picking me up from under my knees, and around my shoulders.

“I’d love for you to sleep with me all night, but let’s not give the olds something to screech about in the morning when you’re not in your room.” He murmurs softly into my ear as he slips silently down the hall. I’m half asleep, my brain barely awake. I nuzzle against his chest, my arms wrapped around his neck. I few seconds later, he slips me into my bed, and I fall back asleep.

 

**** 

“Darlings, why don’t you go into town today? See the shops? Do some sight seeing?” Mrs. Hiddleston asks as I sit down at the breakfast table. It’s a little after ten. I somehow managed to sleep in. I suppose the plethora of alcohol from the last few days has caught up with me. That and all the…excitement.

Santos pours Mrs. Hiddleston some tea, and then puts a mug of coffee down in front of me. The saint. Emily is sitting next to me, sipping on some tea and feeding Mark pieces of toast like he’s some sort of baby bird.

“That sounds great.” Santos nods. I glance at the clock. Tom hasn’t come down yet, but perhaps he’s just as tired as I was.

“Mum, you’ll come with us?” Emily asks. Mrs. Hiddleston smiles and nods.

“Of course.”

“What about Tom?” Santos asks, biting into a croissant. Mrs. Hiddleston smiles and then shakes her head.

“Oh, Tom had to leave. He didn’t want to wake anyone up or make a big fuss about it, but he was called away for work. He sends his love and happy new years.” She grins and then takes a sip of her tea. I won’t lie. I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut, though I’m not entirely sure why.

“His flight left super early. Mark drove him to the ferry.” Emily says, and I can feel her eyes on me. I swallow, take a sip of coffee, feeling it burn my mouth. I look at Santos, who is also staring at me. How do these people see into my soul?! Am I that transparent?!

“Well, too bad he’ll miss the sightseeing.” I say finally, shrugging and digging into the food on my plate. My voice may be a tad too cheery, but they seem to buy it. Santos nods and goes back to his croissant. Emily gives me a little smile and then returns to feeding her baby bird.

Too bad.


	10. January 2011: Champers

“I need to get laid.” Santos hands me a glass of champagne and frowns. I smile and take a sip of the fizzy liquid, nudging some confetti that has covered most of the floor.

“Good luck. Your options are limited here.” I nod toward the room. It is the aftermath of a rather subdued New Years Eve. Subdued but really nice, and exactly what I needed. There was a big dinner, complete with lobster and steaks. Little Kimmy ran around, eating ice cream and dripping all over the floor. All the adults in the room were significantly plastered, save for me. I had imbibed way too much over the course of the week and needed a breather.

Barb and Brad Forrester are singing Auld Lang Syne loudly and off key. Mark and Emily haven’t stopped making out. Mrs. Hiddleston is laughing and giggling with her sister and relatives at the kitchen table, tipsy but still elegant and graceful as ever.

Santos is wearing sequin leggings and is sprawled across my lap.

“My options are limited. Looks like it’s you and me, kid. As always. How about it?” He laughs and looks up at me. I squeeze his nose and then scrunch up my own. I think he’s had at least a bottle of champagne all on his own.

“That sounds like a really horrible idea. Neither of us is that desperate.” I shake my head slowly, trying hard to keep my thoughts from the fact that yes…I do feel a bit desperate. I was left high and dry by old what’s-his-name. Mr. Promise-to-fuck-you-silly-but-then-leaves-the-country-instead.

“I am though, Gracie. I’m desperate. I need to get back to the mother land so I can get back to my regularly scheduled program.” Santos sits up and sighs. He has been calling America the “mother land” all week .

“Where’s the champers?” He looks around for a bottle that still has anything left in it. I hand him a half full one.

After Tom left, I made sure to keep busy. I went sightseeing and did some epic shopping with Emily and Santos. I ran around the island a few times. It was great. I read a few books (more like stared at some words and then took a nap). Maybe not as great as a night with Tom would have been, or even a few nights with him, but again, I’m not thinking about that.

“We leave tomorrow, Santos. And then you can have your fill of frisky young men.” I try not to stare at Emily and Mark, but I’m wondering if they are going to go to their room. They are really going at it. I am not nearly drunk enough for this.

“Drink more, Gracie.” Santos says as if reading my mind. He pushes my hand, trying to raise my glass to my mouth. I take a half hearted sip. “What’s wrong, lovey? You’re not thinking of the bad man are you?” He asks with a frown, referring to my ex. Santo is a little drunk, but he’s still coherent. As coherent as Santos gets.

“No. I’m not.” I shake my head, just as Richard’s dumb face pops into my mind.

“Yes, you are.”

“Well I am now. Thanks!” I laugh and then shake my head. “My life is sort of a mess right now, that’s all. No boyfriend, shitty job…” I press my lips together and try not to wallow too hard in my self pity party. Santos grunts and scoops up some of the confetti bits off the floor and throws them at me.

“Let’s get some things straight. One, Richard was a dick. Obviously. You’re better off without him. Two, you don’t need no man. Three, I thought your job was going better. Four, it’s a new year. You need to take that bull by the horns, lady. Make it a good year. Fuck last year. Last year is dead and gone!” Santos clinks his empty glass against mine.

“You’re right. You’re right.” I shrug. There’s no point in arguing with him, but he’s also right. It’s a new year. I can have a new start. Richard is in the past.

“Of course I am.” He clinks my glass again, and I take his from him before he breaks them.

“And my job’s not that terrible. At least I got that promotion.” I’m thankful I have that to focus on when I get home. Gallery work. Hopefully some curating. Anything to get me to a better place.

“Okay, so focus on that then. I will focus on that new job I’m going to land. And all the hot guys I’m going to bang when I get home. You focus on how bad you want to talk about some old dead guy’s fingerpaintings.” Santos giggles, knowing this will annoy me. I shove him hard and he gives me a wounded look.

“Santos?” I frown and feel some verbal diarrhea coming on. Santos raises an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“I made out with Tom.” I whisper. He blinks two times and then shakes his head.

“Like…recently? Like now?” He points a finger.

“The night before he left.” I breathe in and out.

“How?! HOW?!” Santos asks frantically, and I shush him, putting my hand over his mouth. He stands up, yanks me off the couch and then pulls me from the living room and toward the stairs. We practically run up the stairs, and he shoves me into my room. He shuts the door behind me, and then sort of staggers into the room. What a lush.

“Jeez. Psycho.” I mutter under my breath.

“Oh, you haven’t seen psycho. Tell me what happened!” He is grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“God, you do need to get laid. You’ve never cared this much about my sex life.” I grin and he rolls his eyes.

“Because you were with Richard the Dick for so long, and his idea of crazy sex was doing it on a Tuesday night instead of your regularly scheduled Friday night.” Santos plops down on my tiny twin bed and waits. “Now you’re knocking boots with a gorgeous Brit. I need to know the details.” I roll my eyes.

“There’s nothing really to tell. We went to his room and made out.” I shrug, though I can feel my heart start to race a bit. Santos is nearly giddy with glee.

“Just made out? How did you end up in his room?”

“Santos, stop making this a big deal.” I walk over to the tiny dresser, and start taking off my jewelry and pulling my hair down from the braids I have wrapped around my head. It’s time to call it a night. Lame New Years eve, going to bed at half past midnight.

“It is a big deal. Now tell me or I’ll cut you.” He waits.

“We were watching the movie and he came in and sat next to me. We chatted for a bit and he asked if I knew where his room was. Then he just left.” I bite my lip, turning my back on Santos so he can’t see the wild blush creeping up my chest to my cheeks. Santos giggles.

“What a cheeky bastard! I love it.”

“Shhh!” I say in a harsh whisper, not wanting the whole house to hear.

“So why didn’t you have sex?” Santos asks, lowering his voice.

“Because I’m a good girl.” I sit down next to him on the bed, running my fingers through my wavy hair, massaging my slightly aching scalp. Santos hiccups and then rests his head on my shoulder.

“That’s true, but tell me the real reason why.”

“Because his mom knocked on the door.” I grumble. Santos starts laughing so hard, that I’m sure they hear him downstairs. He’s wheezing and practically choking on his laughter, which of course, sets me off into a fit of giggles. We both end up sprawled on the bed, slapping each other and grabbing our stomachs, trying to breathe through the laughter.

I roll to the side of the bed, tears streaming from my eyes, just as I notice that my cell phone is blinking with an alert. I frown, reaching for it. There are very few people in the world who would be trying to contact me now, and most of them are in this house.

I swipe my phone open. It’s a text message.

_Happy New Years. Hope you saved me a kiss._

It’s from a number I don’t recognize. I sit up, Santos still wheezing beside me.

 _Thank you. Who is this?_ I text back quickly. A moment passes.

Oh. My. Tom.

“Who are you texting?” Santos asks. I shake my head, standing up and making a beeline for the bathroom. I run inside, and shut the door behind me before Santos can ask anymore questions though I hear him whining from the other room.

 _How did you get my number?_ I ask.

_I have my ways. Did you get a New Years kiss?_

_None of your business._ I text back and then sink down onto the floor. My heart is racing again, and I suddenly feel hot all over.

 _Santos doesn’t count. Hope to see you soon, Gracie._ I stare at the words. He must have gotten my number from Emily, though she didn’t mention it to me. I bite my lip and then text him back quickly.

_Happy New Year, Tom._

I quickly go into my contacts and add his name to my phone. This is a bad idea. This is a very, very bad idea.

“Gracie! Stop sexting and let me in. I have to take a piss.” Santos yells, banging on the door and hiccupping at the same time. I grin and tuck my phone into my bra, then open the door. He must have been leaning heavily on it, because he falls into the small bathroom and then immediately starts throwing up champagne into the bathroom sink.

Happy new year, indeed.


	11. May 2011: Cinderella Complex

“Do you have something to wear?” Santos asks, his voice sounds far away.

“Yeah, I—“

“No, don’t say the black dress from freshman year. I forbid you to wear that.” He interrupts. I roll my eyes and set down the pen I have in my hand. My small desk is covered in paperwork, and stacks of binders full of things I need to organize and catalogue.

“It’s a nice dress.” I pout and then chew nervously on my lip. It’s one of my only dresses. I’m more of a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl.

“It was sort of a nice dress back in like 1995 when you bought it.” He laughs, and I only feign anger for a few seconds before I join in.

“Rude.” I scold softly. He’s right though. It’s a plain, midlength black dress that I bought when I was ten pounds heavier, and a big fan of hiding under big, billowy clothing.

“I’m joking, Gracie. Sort of. Okay, I’m not. But this is a big deal. You’re representing your gallery when you go. Sure, you could play the ‘I’m an artist and I can wear severely outdated clothing because I’m so cool and I don’t care what you think but I really do care what you think, love me, love me, please love me’ route. But that’s so old. And tired. And you’re far too pretty for that. So go to Michael Kors and get yourself something fancy.” I can hear him typing as he speaks, so I’m sure he’s multitasking while at work.

“Michael Kors?” I mimic him, writing down the name on a scrap of paper.

“Why do you sound frightened? I said Michael Kors, not Michael Myers.” He says.

“I…am frightened. A little. You’re right. It’s a huge deal that Vera asked me to go and represent the gallery. She said normally she’d go herself, but it’s the opening for the new exhibit here. It’s not even a big event. It’s just a charity thing that we’ve loaned some pieces to. I’m just there to be a face for the gallery. But…she’s never asked me to do anything like this before. I don’t want to let her down.” I look down at my nails, which are badly mangled from nervous chewing. I add “manicure” to my list on my scrap of paper, and then “pedicure” after peeking at my toes.

“Vera knows you’re amazing. She sees how dedicated you are. She knows you can’t stay a junior gallery assistant the rest of your life. I bet you she’s grooming you.” Santos says, his voice rising slightly. I laugh.

“Grooming me? I don’t know that that happens.” I shake my head. He’s been watching too many reality competition shows.

“Whatever. Listen, I’m very busy and important, so I need to go now. Do you need a date for this event? I’m already in DC! I’ll be the perfect date. I just got a new Tom Ford suit and I need to break it in.”

“Tom Ford?”

“You’re killing me.”

“I wish I could bring you, but I don’t get a plus one. It’s going to be terribly awkward. Vera said I’ll have ‘unprecedented access to the museum’, so I figure I can just drink a lot of free champagne and then sneak around the exhibits.”

“My suggestion is to find a plus one at the event, and then sneak around the exhibits with them. I’ve never done it in a museum.” He sounds thoughtful. “Wait, does a historical site that has paintings in it count?” He is completely serious.

“Good bye, Santos.” I can’t hold in my smile. I haven’t seen him in three weeks and I miss him terribly.

After New Years, he accepted a job at an architectural firm in Washington, DC. While it’s a short car ride away from New York, at times, it can seem like it is across the country. We’re both normally so busy during the week, that we are lucky if we get in a few text messages. He says he eventually wants to come back to New York, but for now he seems to be having fun getting to know a new city. Perhaps it’s a side effect for both of us from coming from fractured families. We never really knew home, so we’re not all that pressed about moving around. Nothing is permanent.

“Gracie? Are you heading out soon?” Vera calls to me from out in the gallery space. I quickly turn off my computer and grab my bag. It’s nearly nine, and the gallery has been closed for almost an hour. The large expansive glass panels near the front are frosted, which makes it hard to see any details outside, but I can see the orange red glow of the nearly set sun.

The Hudson Collection is a small gallery. It consists of three small rooms and one main gallery space, housing mostly contemporary work but occasionally some special collections. We were able to host a seven week showing of some Georgia O’Keeffe works earlier in the Spring which had been a big deal. It’s a smaller gallery, but pretty well known in the art scene. Vera, the owner, is practically a celebrity herself. When I first met her, I could barely speak. She was intimidating—a bit strange, but professional and polite. She wears only various shades of the color gray, and she keeps her long dark hair stick straight. I’m sure she knows who Michael Kors and Tom Ford are. She probably knows them personally.

“I’m going shopping for an outfit for the benefit.” I say as I step out of the small back office. Vera is doing yoga in the empty studio space, wearing gray leggings and a heather gray corset top.

“Oh? Don’t bother. I’ll have something sent to you.” She looks at me while she lifts her hips into a downward facing dog. She’s tiny—about my height but maybe twenty or thirty pounds lighter. Though she’s also thirty years older than me, she could easily pass as my slightly older, much cooler sister.

“Are you sure?” I get a nervous rock form in the pit of my stomach. Vera squints at me, staring at me while she pushes back into a plank position.

“Yes. I heard you mention Michael Kors.” She breathes in and her lithe body moves into a cobra pose, bending backwards and pushing her face toward the ceiling. Ouch. I shift.

“I don’t even know who he is. But Santos suggested—“

“Oh! Where is Santos? I haven’t seen him around lately.” She looks at me, pausing and waiting for my answer.

“He’s in DC. He has a job there.”

“Lovely.” Vera nods, approving. She stands up finally, and then quickly rolls up her gray yoga mat.

“Are you sure you want something sent to me? I can just go—“

“Yes, I’m sure. I can expense it. Just have a good time, Gracie. You’re really there just to enjoy. And to make sure the gallery is getting recognition.” Vera walks over to the visitor’s desk by the front door, and pulls out a small folder. She hands it to me, her dark eyes amused.

“Here’s your event ticket and hotel information. I’ll have a dress sent to your hotel. Let me know sometime Saturday night how things go, okay? You’ll most likely meet Franklin. He’s PR for the museum. He’ll introduce you to some people when you get to the event.” She smiles, and pats me gently on the shoulder. I flip open the folder, scanning the information inside.

“Thanks, Vera. I’ll make sure to call you.”

“How do you feel about the color gray?” She asks with a wink.

 

 ****

 

The dress she has sent to me is gray. But it is absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous. It’s a rich, dove gray chiffon gown and it arrives at my hotel just as I start to settle in. The drive to DC had been surprisingly stress free, and though I paid an arm and a leg in tolls between the two cities, everything else had been simple.

The dress arrives in a large garment bag, and it’s laid out across the bed. The bag boy looks at me strangely, because I’m pretty sure I squeal as he sets it down. It’s not every day that I get to play dress up. In fact, I never get to play dress up. I try my best to look presentable for the gallery, but my standard outfit is fitted black pants with a black top of some sort. Nothing that really screams fashionista.

I gingerly unzip the bag, holding my breath as I do. I pull it out of the garment bag, running my newly manicured fingers over the material. I’ve barely manage to set down my bags before I’m shedding off my clothes, itching to try it on.

It’s sleeveless, with a deep v neckline. The flowing, full chiffon skirt is nipped in at the waist, and moves like inky smoke due to the perfectly pleated layers. It’s a simple design, but it is beyond lovely—misty, almost ethereal. A high slit up the side adds a bit of drama. I’ve never worn a dress like this, and I’m not sure that I ever will again.

I walk slowly around the hotel room, letting it flutter around me. If this is my Cinderella story, then I accept it. Although, I’m not quite sure where or if I am going to get a prince in this story. Whoops.

Vera has included a pair of gorgeous, simple black heels, which I slip on as well. I feel a rush of endorphins. The excitement of being in a new city, and have somewhere glamorous to go later is making me feel happy and lightheaded. I haven’t felt that way in well…quite some time. Perhaps since Christmas. But maybe that shouldn’t even count. That was just stupidity. That was just flirtation and naiveté.

Unzipping the dress, and sliding it back into the bag, I try for about three seconds not to think about him. About Tom. The simple truth is, I haven’t heard from him since New Years. I can’t say I’m surprised. I don’t know what I expected to happen. We started as a one night stand, we will end as a one night stand. Emily had warned me about him, and what do I know? There are still days I get a little weepy about Richard if I think about him too much. Okay, maybe not Richard himself. More like the idea of Richard. I’m over him but…it somehow still hurts.

I knew Tom was a bad idea. No, strike that. Tom was a great idea. Tom was the best idea I’ve had in years. But that’s all he was. Just an idea. Nothing real. It’s confusing to think of him though, like some sort of unfinished business. I get that squeeze in my stomach (and maybe other parts), when his name is occasionally mentioned. Very occasionally. I see Emily around, and we get lunch every couple of weeks. She’s inseparable from Mark and has been working on a play, which makes getting together difficult.

She tells me that Tom’s working, as always. And he has a huge movie coming out soon. And that he isn’t dating anyone. I feign disinterest whenever she talks about him, but I would be lying if I weren’t clinging to her every word. I can’t help it. Sometimes, when I get really down about Richard, asking myself those dumb questions—Why wasn’t I enough? Why did he have to cheat? What did she have that I don’t have?, I will suddenly get this flash of brilliant blue eyes. And Richard didn’t have blue eyes. No, they are unmistakably Tom’s.

I can’t say it makes me feel better, but I don’t feel any worse.


	12. May 2011: Fiances and Boyfriends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have many of my stories on Ao3, but if you are enjoying Hello Again, you can read my 2 finished Tom fics on Wattpad. They are called "For the Love" and "Crumbs". I write under the name circa1927 on Wattpad. Thank you for reading!

The charity event is more like a huge party. There’s an open bar, music and dancing. The entire first floor of the New York Contemporary Museum has been rented out for this event. The museum is gorgeous, and as soon as I step inside, I wish that I had been able to bring Santos with me. He would have loved the design and the space. The main room is huge, wide and open with rich marble floors, and impossibly high ceilings. A two tiered chandelier hangs from the middle of the room, and there are two rows of paintings in ornate wooden frames that line each wall. I recognize one entire wall as artwork from my gallery, and it makes me swell with pride to see them there. It’s not as if I painted them, but it’s so nice to see The Hudson Gallery represented.

The room is full, but not packed. People stand in small groups, talking and laughing loudly as they sip expensive champagne. The dance floor has already started to fill. Some people stand at the cocktail tables, nibbling on tiny hors d’oeuvres. It’s all rather fancy and civilized, and although I’m wearing an insanely expensive dress (I texted Santos the designer, and he responded with a lot of exclamation points), and I’ve actually done my hair and makeup for once, I still feel out of place.

“May I get you a drink?” A pleasant voice to my side asks. I turn, coming face to face with a waiter. He looks young, though the tux he’s wearing makes him look at least of age.

“Champagne, please.” I smile, forcing it slightly. The Cinderella effect has worn off slightly, and now that I’m here, all I can think about is getting back to the hotel, ordering room service and watching tv in bed.

“You must be Gracie Bell.” A voice from behind me seems to ring out through the room, and I turn around quickly. A man, who looks to be in his forties, wearing an impeccable black tux, walks up to me, his large hand out. I smile again, and shake his hand.

“Hello.” I manage. I don’t know why Vera thought I would be good at this. I’m terrible at this. I’m about as eloquent as a cactus. The man smiles, and I can’t help but notice the quick dart of his eyes as he looks me up and down. I press my lips together, crossing my arms over my front. I’m more than aware of the low v neckline of the dress, and the way his eyes linger.

“I’m Franklin Kordrol. I’m the event planner here at the New York Contemporary. I know Vera well. She told me you would be coming in her stead.” He grins at me, his smile wide and full of large teeth. He’s a large man, with close set eyes and graying moustache. I take a step back. Has he heard of personal space?

“Ah, Mr. Kordrol, yes. So nice to meet you.” I say, my jaw clenched as I force a smile.

“Please, young lady, call me Franklin. Mr. Kordrol was my father.” He puts a hand at the small of my back and I try to be subtle as I take a few steps forward, just out of his reach. I wonder if it would be rude to remind him that _he_ is old enough to be my father.

“Let me show you around, and introduce you to a few people. I want you to meet some people from the museum, and the charity, and there’s quite a few celebrities here. I sincerely hope you have a wonderful time. No date?” He still has an arm extended, as if he wants to guide me around the room. I grip my little clutch purse, my mind racing.

“No date. Just here strictly for business.” I say, my voice clipped. The waiter returns with my champagne, and I take it, thanking him as I quickly throw back the cold, fizzy liquid. Franklin watches me drink, somewhat mesmerized, but then smiles quickly and turns as he motions me to follow him. I set the empty glass down on a nearby table, and I follow him through the large room.

“Vera sent some beautiful pieces. We were thrilled to have them here.” Franklin walks me through the hall, smiling and waving at people as we move. I try my best to take everything in, but it’s rather overwhelming.

“As always, THG is so happy we’ve been able to be a part of this.” I hear my voice, and it sounds robotic. Franklin nods, and he leads me out of the main room toward one of the smaller rooms. It is quieter, as the band is playing in the main room, and there are less people. Here, there are more smaller groups having quiet conversations.

“Vera may have told you, as a perk of being one of our guests, you have full access to the museum. The gala is being held in the main concourse and the first three small galleries on the first floor. You may visit the other two galleries on the first floor, and anywhere on the second floor. I would be more than happy to give you a private tour, if you’d like.” He smiles, and I can hear the somewhat heavy way he is breathing. I swallow, feeling a little bit sweaty and completely uncomfortable. Vera didn’t tell me that her contact for this event was a total, absolute creeper.

“Thank you, Mr. Kordrol, but I think I’ll just stay in the main gala area. I don’t want to miss anything.” I nod. He stares at me for a second, his dark eyes serious and thoughtful, then he nods.

“Yes, well.” He says, as if he doesn’t totally accept my response. “Let me introduce you to a few people I work with, and then I can let you get back to the party.” He says, putting his hand back at the small of my back again.

Kordrol introduces me to quite a few people, whose names I immediately forget. I meet the charity head organizer, and the museum’s gallery manager. I make small talk with the head curator, making sure to remember her name for later. Kordrol stays close to me the whole time, making sure I have a full glass of champagne and introducing me to whoever he can. It makes me uncomfortable but I know I only have to stay for a little bit longer to be polite, and then I can leave.

“I’d love to introduce you to our head of marketing, but he’s nowhere to be found. Richie is fantastic, and your gallery might work with him later on.” Kordrol peers around the room. I nod, feeling lightheaded from the champagne. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and the alcohol is going right to my head.

“Ah, come this way, I’ll introduce you to some of our special guests.” Kordrol takes my arm, and I have to fight every urge to pull away. His hand feels large, cool and clammy on my upper arm. I feel like his little pet that he’s showing off to everyone. Already, I’m formulating excuses for why I need to leave.

We walk over to a group of three men, all wearing tuxes and suits. Two of the men are on the shorter side, in their early thirties with somewhat familiar faces, but I can’t quite place them. The third man…his face is more than familiar.

“Miss Bell, let me introduce you to James Forth, Greg Mitchell and Tom Hiddleston. They’re part of our celebrity supporters tonight. You may recognize them from their various film and television work.” Kordrol beams, as if he himself is responsible for their careers. I lock eyes immediately with Tom, who looks shocked at first, but then breaks into a huge smile.

“Gracie.” His voice is smooth, velvety. It is like warm honey. Seeing his friendly, familiar face in this sea of strangers makes me almost weak in the knees.

“Hello.” I grin, and Tom steps forward, pulling me into a hug. He’s wearing a slim fit black suit with a white shirt and a red satin tie. He looks handsome and happy. His dark hair is long gone, and in it’s place is the hair I remember. Golden, curly, but much shorter than before. It’s short on the sides with some height on top.

“It’s incredible that you’re here. You look…beautiful.” He pulls back, his hands still warm on my arms. I smile and fight off the urge to hug him again.

“Thank you. I’m here with my gallery.” I say, and we both pause and look at each other, then let out a quick burst of incredulous laughter.

“I see you already know Mr. Hiddleston.” Kordrol looks annoyed. I turn then and introduce myself quickly to the other two men, who shake my hand smiling. I can feel Tom’s eyes on me, and I can feel the heat rise from my chest to my face.

“Yes, we’ve met.” I smile at Tom and his grin gets wider.

“Gentleman, Miss Bell has many people to meet today. If you’ll excuse us.” Kordrol dips his head and I feel the panic wash over me again. Now that I know Tom is here, the last thing I want to do is continue to be paraded around by Stranger Danger. I smile weakly and then look at Tom, who has a curious look on his face. I blink at him and then try to mentally send him an SOS signal. He reaches forward, lightly touching my elbow as Kordrol tries to direct me away.

“We have to catch up, Grace.” Tom says softly, and nods toward me, as if promising me he’ll come find me soon. I nod and grab his hand, squeeze his fingers and then turn and let Kordrol push me toward another group of strangers.

My heart is beating so fast, I can barely focus. What are the odds that Tom would be here? Then again, what are the odds of any of my run ins with him. It sort of seems to be our thing. I’ve never been more relieved to see someone.

The next half hour is spent with Kordrol being creepy, and staying within a foot range of me at all times, and meeting more and more people that I will not remember an instant later. I smile, and try to be professional. I know many of these people could be future networking connections. I know that I am representing The Hudson Gallery. But, to be honest, all I can think about is Tom. I haven’t seen him since Kordrol pulled me away.

My stomach rumbles as the music in the gallery has gotten louder. I’ve had at least three glasses of champagne, and I’m beginning to worry if I don’t eat something I’ll fall over.

“Are you alright, Gracie? You look flushed.” Kordrol asks, his face close to mine. I can see his pores, the slight sheen of sweat around his forehead. I blink and smooth my dress down around me.

“I think I need something to eat.” I say. He immediately springs into action, telling me he’ll return in a moment with something for me. I’d much rather get it myself, but when I start to protest, he holds up his hands, shaking his head.

Kordrol stalks away to the hors d’oeuvres table, and I finally feel as if I can breathe. I’ve been there for over an hour and he hasn’t left my side. Doesn’t the man have something to do besides harass me? I look around for an empty table and find one off the side of the dance floor. The band is playing a slow song, and there are multiple couples out on on the floor.

I sigh as I sit, feeling my slightly aching feet relax for a moment. Now would be a good time to talk to Vera, so I grab my phone from my clutch.

 _The event is really nice. Thank you for the dress, it’s beautiful. Everything seems to be great!_ I text her, then hold my phone as I wait for her response.

 _Excellent! Have a good time. Have you met Franklin?_ Vera asks. I take a deep breath, my eyes scanning for him. No sign of his return yet.

 _I have. He hasn’t left my side. He’s very…friendly._ I press my lips together.

_I should have warned you about that. He is overbearing. He’s harmless though. See you Monday!_

I wrinkle my nose at her text, and then put my phone away. I’ve already decided I’ll stay for another half an hour, and then I’m done.

“Gracie?” A familiar voice behind me makes all the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I turn, and then immediately stand up from the table, pushing my chair back as I do.

Richard. Richard the dick. What is he doing here?!

I am completely speechless. I haven’t seen him since we broke up. I haven’t seen him since I last saw him, cheating on me in my own bed. I brace myself against the table and then force a smile, but it is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. My face feels like plastic. Hard, unmovable.

He looks pretty much the same. Not much has changed in six months. Same dark hair. Same dark eyes. He’s lost a bit of weight, and he’s grown a beard. Other than that. Same.

But dear god, he has a woman with him. The woman. At first I’m not sure if it’s her. I’d recognize her better if she were naked, to be honest. But it’s her. Blond hair, thin face. She stands a bit behind Richard, holding onto his arm and watching me.

“Richard.” I finally find my voice. He stands still, doesn’t try to hug me or touch me, thank god. My mouth feels dry, and everything seems a bit hazy.

“You’re the last person I expected to see here.” He says, and lets out a nervous laugh. My mind races for something, anything, intelligent to say but I’m drawing a blank.

“I’m here with THG.” I say, suddenly remembering the gallery. Richard nods. I’ve worked for The Hudson Gallery for awhile, and was working there when we were together, so he remembers.

“I’m head of marketing for this museum. I got the job a few months back.” He says, and then nods again. The blond is still hanging onto his arm, but he’s made no move to introduce her. I feel like I’m going to vomit, and I wouldn’t totally mind if it was on him.

“Congratulations.” I say, but there’s no joy in my voice.

“Thank you. You look lovely, Gracie.” He says, and his voice warms slightly. I swallow hard, feeling emotions I’d been long trying to repress start to rear their ugly heads. I want to run. I want to cry. I want to be anywhere but here. I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing him ever again.

“Thanks.” I manage. The blond finally shuffles forward, clearing her throat softly. Oh honey, I know who you are. Don’t you worry.

“Gracie, um. I hate to do this here, but I guess you should hear it from me.” Richard slips an arm around her slender back, pulling her to his side. I feel like I already know what he is going to say, but nothing can really prepare me for it.

“This is Carmen…my fiancé.” Richard looks at me, his eyes are like cold, dark stones. I feel something inside of me harden and break. My chin, my terrible, traitorous chin, gives a tiny, shaking tremble. Fiance. He’s known her only six months! Unless…

My stomach flips and I clench my hands into fists at my side. I will not cry. I will not cry. Apparently, I can’t speak either because I haven’t said anything and Richard and Carmen are just looking at me, waiting. My eyes flicker to her hand, and sure enough, there is a rather large, sparkly diamond on her ring finger. It shouldn’t hurt, but it feels like someone’s punched me in the gut.

“Darling, there you are. God, how could I have missed you? You’re stunning.” I feel an arm slip around my waist, but I know it is him before I even have to look. Tom’s face is suddenly nuzzled in the crook of my neck, and he turns us slightly so his back is toward Richard.

“Steady,” He whispers into my ear, and he holds me tight for a second. I give in for a half a moment, feeling my chin wobble again and I press my face into his shoulder. In the safety of Tom’s arms, blocked from the view of Richard and Carmen, I take a deep, trembling breath and I bite my lip hard. Then I pull it together. Tom releases me, his arm still around my waist as we turn back toward Richard and Carmen.

“Gracie girl, who are your friends?” Tom asks, all brightness and cheer. I feel his hand press into my side, and he squeezes lightly, pulling me against him gently.

“Tom,” I finally find my voice. “This is my ex, Richard. Richard, this is Tom—“ I nod toward Richard, ignoring the woman next to him. I’m not quite ready to address that.

“Richard, nice to meet you. I’m Tom, Gracie’s boyfriend.” Tom shakes Richard’s hand, and I can’t help but get a tiny thrill of satisfaction when I see the look on Richard’s face. It may be a lie, but it’s a lovely little lie, and I could just about kiss Tom for saying it.

“Boyfriend? Oh.” Richard murmurs and it is his turn to force a smile. I still feel lightheaded, and somewhat nauseated at this point. I feel myself waver against Tom, and Tom takes my hand in his.

“It’s been fantastic meeting you, but I’ve promised Grace a dance. So, if you’ll excuse us.” Tom grins and then he is leading me away from them. With each step that we take away from them, I feel my stomach start to unclench slightly.

He leads me toward the dance floor, but I know I won’t be able to dance. I can barely stand.

“Gracie?” He looks down at me, his blue eyes concerned.

“I need to get out of here. Quickly.” I say softly. In my peripheral I can see Kordrol, walking toward us with a frown and a plate in his hand. Tom wraps his arms around my shoulder, and we make a beeline for the main doors.

“Let’s go.” He says, his jaw clenches and we both pick up our pace, eyes set for the door.


	13. May 2011: Easy Peasy

“Miss Bell!” I hear Kordrol yelling my name from across the hall, and I curse softly. I turn, plastering a smile back on my face. My heart is racing, and I want nothing more than to be out of this building. This building where Richard and his new fiancé are now dancing, staring lovingly into each other’s terrible eyes.

“You aren’t leaving, are you? The Hudson Gallery will be receiving an award in a few moments, and I’m sure Vera would want someone here to accept it.” Kordrol is out of breath as he runs up to us, stopping in front of me. His eyes search my face, and I honestly don’t know what to say for a minute. I can only think about Richard, and that diamond ring, and the fact that I think Kordrol is a huge creep.

“Miss Bell isn’t feeling well.” Tom steps in for me, after it takes me far too long to respond. Kordrol frowns, looking a mixture of angry and annoyed. He takes a half step back and then turns to me, his face red and his eyes wide.

“Not feeling well? But you have to stay. Someone has to be here—“ His voice gets higher and I quickly shake my head. I don’t want a scene. I don’t want it to get back to Vera that I was ungracious or that I left early. I put a hand up, resting it gently on Kordrol’s arm. He calms almost instantly, and I pull my hand away.

“I’m fine. I’m staying. Don’t worry, Mr. Kordrol.” I say finally, putting up my hands. He looks relieved, and the redness drains from his face slightly.

“Good. I still wanted to give you that private tour. It could be very beneficial to your career. I could introduce you to a lot of people, Miss. Bell.” He says this, moving slightly so his back is to Tom, sort of pushing him off to the side. I’m not sure if I’m reading far too much into Kordrol’s words, but I feel my stomach clench with nausea. I’m sure Tom hasn’t heard what he said to me, otherwise Tom would be jumping back into knight-in-shining-armor mode, coming to defend my honor.

“If you’ll excuse me, please. I’m just going to go to the restroom.” I push away from both of them, feeling like I’m going to break into a million pieces if I see Kordrol’s sweaty red face for a minute more. I walk quickly toward out of the main room, toward the foyer where I know there is a ladies room.  

I step inside, relieved to find it empty. As soon as I receive the award, I’ll find a way to slip out. I just hope I can make it that long. Stepping in front of the wide mirror, I look at my reflection. My hair sits in loose waves down my shoulders, and my cheeks are flushed pink. My throat and chest are splotchy, red and pink as well and I look a little like I have a rash. Great. The perks of having fair skin. Everything I feel becomes evident on my skin.

I grab a few paper towels and run them under cool water, then dab gingerly at my throat and chest. If this isn’t a bit of a nightmare, I’m not sure what is. Deep breaths. Deep, cleansing breaths. Doesn’t really work. I give myself to the count of twenty, then brace myself.

I carefully leave the bathroom, peeking outside first to see if Kordrol is anywhere around. The coast seems to be clear. I can see him far on the other side of the room. Perhaps he’s decided to harass someone else for a bit. I slip out of the bathroom, looking for the best place to stand and be as invisible as possible. Reminder for next time Vera asks me to fill in for her—are there any lecherous, creepy old men there?

“Are you alright?” Tom’s voice is low and careful, and I turn around, finding him standing to the side, waiting.

“I’ll be okay.” I nod. I’m embarrassed that he saw me so upset. I’m thrilled he’s here, but I’m also not sure if I can handle any extra drama. Or feelings. I’d love it if I could just turn everything off for a moment.

“Come with me?” He holds out his hand, and I’ll be damned if I don’t take it automatically like a good little robot. His hand is big and cool, and he covers my hand with his. It is inexplicable but I feel safe with him. I hardly know him, but I trust him implicitly.

He turns and we make our way quickly through the crowds, into the smaller gallery, which is nearly deserted now. We keep walking, him leading with me a step behind. We don’t speak, but walk in silence as he takes us to a pair of tall, heavy ornate wooden doors. He turns back, raises an eyebrow at me, and then opens one of the doors, just enough for us to slip through. I don’t ask questions, but I move quickly and quietly through the open door. Tom follows a second later.

The room is nearly dark, save for the gallery lighting on the paintings. The main lights have been turned off, and the illuminated paintings look gorgeous in the stark light. The room is lovely, cool, and completely quiet. Museums are my favorite place in the world to be. Quiet, contemplative, emotional.

“That’s better.” Tom says softly, stepping up next to me. I turn quickly to face him.

“Thank you.” I whisper, glancing around. He steps up to me, raises his hands as if he’s going to touch me, but then lets his arms drop at his sides.

“I don’t know why you’re thanking me. Also, is that guy Kordrol a total creep…or?” He frowns and I giggle softly.

“He is. A total creep.” I nod. We both quiet and Tom bumps me with his shoulder, gently.

“So that was _the ex_ , I’m guessing?” He asks. I nod and chew on my lower lip. A terrible habit, but it’s good for keeping tears in. Tom clears his throat and then steps away, walking toward one of the paintings. I watch him for a moment, and then follow him, noiselessly making my way to where he stands.

“Do you know anything about these?” He asks, nodding toward the painting. It’s a night time scene, and a rather famous one.

“These are by an American realist painter named Edward Hopper. This is his most famous work. It’s called ‘Nighthawks’.” We both stare quietly at the work, and Tom tucks his hands into his pockets. The painting we are looking at depicts a darkened street. The viewer is looking in on a harshly lit diner, with a few patrons and a waiter the only people inside the building.

“I’ve seen this before.” Tom says softly, though he’s looking at me and not the painting. I nod, ignoring him. If I look at him, who knows what will happen. Instead, I focus intensely on the paintings.

“Hopper paints a lot of very minimalist scenes with an emphasis on light. His art is all about loneliness. Being solitary. They’re some of my favorites.” I can feel him, still looking at me, but I keep my eyes on the painting.

“I like that you know so much about him.”

“You could just read the placard.” I say with a smile. Tom laughs softly.

“But it sounds much better coming from you.” He shrugs and then I turn to him. I can only see half his face in this light, but he is so handsome. My hands itch to touch his face, to touch his hair, but I refrain. It’s been four months since I saw him last. Four months since we last talked, but for some reason, it feels like no time has passed.

“We keep running into each other.” He looks down at his hands, and then his blue eyes are back on me.

“Perhaps you’re stalking me.” I grin. He smiles, then reaches forward and takes one of my hands in his.

“Perhaps.” He says softly. “Gracie, I—“

“I need to get back out there. I need to accept that award. Then I’m going to go back to my hotel. Do you want to come with me?” I ask this quickly, the words spilling out as I cut him off from whatever he’s going to say. I don’t want to hear him say he’s sorry that I had to run into Richard. I don’t want his pity. Not tonight.

Tom looks surprised for a minute, but then he gives me a short, fast nod.

“I’ll go wherever with you.” He gives me a smile that makes my knees watery. I nod and then turn, walking out of the darkened room as quickly as I can, before I can say or do anything else. I should probably already regret what I’ve said, but somehow, I just don’t.

 

 ****

 

Accepting the award takes all of thirty seconds. I walk up on stage, with my lovely fake smile, I spot Richard and Carmen in the crowd and feel as if I’m going to vomit, I take the award and then I hurry off into obscurity. Tom is already waiting for me at the doors, as I duck my head and we hurry out into the warm night air. May in DC is pretty mild, and there’s a light, warm breeze blowing. The dramatic marble stairs of the museum expand out in front of us, and Tom hesitates as we walk outside.

“Gracie? Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks. I know I’m not acting totally myself, but it’s just the shock of seeing Richard. It will wear off. My dress flutters around me, molding against my legs as the breeze blows.

“I’m starving.” I look up at him, and he scans my face, then breaks into a smile.

“Alright. Well I know just the place.” He nods and we make our way down the stairs. I feel better already, knowing I’m leaving behind that stuffy party and stranger danger and my terrible ex. Tom ushers me into a black sedan, and I raise an eyebrow at him as he makes sure my dress is tucked into the car.

“You have a driver?” I ask. He shrugs and then leans into the opening.

“One of the perks.” He laughs and then carefully closes the door.

We are only in the car for a few minutes before we pull up to what looks like an old fashioned diner. Tom opens the door for me, and we make our way inside. The Silver Diner is in fact an old fashioned diner, with booths and black and white checkered floor. We stand out magnificently in our formal wear, but no one even bats an eye. The waitress, who is wearing an amazing amount of blue eyeshadow, shows us to a booth in the corner.

“How did you know about this place?” I ask Tom as I slide into the booth. The seat backs are high, making it feel rather private. Tom takes off his jacket, throwing it to side, and then slides in. I settle in across from him, thanking the waitress as she hands us menus. Tom starts rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, unbuttoning them and then quickly, methodically rolling them up his toned forearms.

“I may have eaten here last night. Don’t judge me.” He smiles and then reaches up, loosening his tie.   I sit back, watching him.

“By yourself?” I ask.

“Perhaps. It’s a lonely life sometimes. Like those Hopper paintings.” He winks at me.

“Tom, I wanted to thank you for what happened back there. I sort of…fell apart a little.” I feel myself blush, embarrassed at how close I’d been to crying. Tom blinks, his eyes meeting mine.

“I thought you did well.” He says graciously. Our waitress comes over to get our drinks, and we both order water and coffee.

“I didn’t know he would be there. I didn’t even…I haven’t seen him since…” I feel my throat constrict. Tom is quiet, his eyes kind and understanding.

“It’s never fun when it’s sprung on you like that.” He offers. I nod, and then look away.

“How did you know? How did you know who he was?” I ask. He smiles, and then runs a big hand through the sides of his hair. I brush my hair over my shoulder, suddenly feeling entirely too aware that I’m sitting in an expensive gown, in a little diner, with Tom.

“I didn’t really know who he was. But I could tell you were upset and uncomfortable. I’d been on my way over to see you, and then I caught snippets of your conversation.” Tom licks his lips and then looks uncertain. “I hope I did the right thing.”

“I could barely form sentences. You did the right thing.” I smile, and we both laugh.

We spend the next hour chatting, and digging into burgers and fries. I didn’t realize I had been quite that hungry, and made Tom laugh as I practically ravaged my food. I suppose it’s not every day that you see a girl in an evening gown devouring greasy diner food. He keeps up with me, ordering a piece of pie with ice cream for us to share at the end.

It would be easier to walk away if our conversation weren’t effortless. It would be easier if he weren’t so charming and easy going. He’s intelligent and funny and when he laughs, there are tiny lines that appear at the sides of his eyes.

It would be easier to just walk away, if I didn’t get that warm, lusty punch in the gut whenever I heard his laugh, or whenever he looked at me with those ocean blue eyes. It would be easier if we weren’t both lonely and alone in a big city. He has this way of making me feel comfortable. Despite everything, the nightmare from earlier is erased and it’s suddenly one of the nicest evenings I’ve had in a long, long time.

And it is easy. It’s so easy. So when we finish our late dinner, he pays for the check, and then we both decide that his hotel would be better than mine because he’s staying at The Jefferson in a suite, and I’ve got a regular room at a Hilton. Easy peasy.


	14. May 2011: 78%

Tom’s suite is amazing. It seems to be all wainscoting and soft, muted neutral colors. There’s an actual chandelier hanging in the middle, and a fireplace toward the far side.

“I was just excited that my room had a mini fridge.” I joke as Tom closes the door behind him. He laughs and shrugs off his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair that looks like it cost more than all the furniture combined in my apartment. We had been quiet on the ride over from the diner. We both knew what we were doing, but this felt a little different than any of the other times. We hadn’t exactly planned it, but we’d both agreed on it rather quickly. It was beginning to feel more and more less like one night stands and more like…friends with benefits. Or something like that.

“It’s not always like this. I feel like some sort of politician, being in Washington DC, staying in this fancy room.” He starts to loosen his tie. I take a half step toward him.

“What does that make me then?” I ask softly, and then I reach up and take the tie from him. He freezes and let’s me slowly undo the knot from it. It’s a dark red, silk tie. I slowly undo the knot and then pull it gently from around his neck. Tom watches me, only his eyes moving, and then he slowly licks his lips.

“You can be whatever you’d like.” He says, his voice quiet and rough. He reaches down and takes the tie from my hands, and runs it slowly through his larger ones. Oh. About a thousand ideas pop into my mind as I watch him wrap it around his hand.

“I could be your naughty little intern or I could be your power hungry boss who’s just begging for…” I trail off as I step toward him. Tom clears his throat, looking a bit shocked.

“It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for.” He mumbles with a laugh. I laugh and then shove him backward. The moment has passed, and I sigh and plop down on the edge of the bed.

“Sorry, I’m not very good at dirty talk.” I say with a laugh, running my hands over the soft folds of my dress. Tom leans against the dresser and takes a deep breath.

“No, no, you’re fine…you’re quite…good.” He says softly, looking somewhat uncomfortable. I think I may be doing this all wrong. If we are going to hook up, I’m not sure we should be talking quite so much. I think we are just supposed to be tearing each other’s clothes off, with wild abandon.

“Are we…do you want to…” I am bumbling around my words now, and I’m pretty sure I should just slink back to my own hotel, like the total nerd that I am. Tom stays standing across the room, his head tilted ever so slightly. He’s looking at me like I’m some sort of odd, never before seen creature. Take a picture, dude.

“Gracie.” He says my name, and I blink. When he says my name is does weird things to me. Maybe I should ask him to call me Jamie again instead.

“Yes?”

“Are you still in love with Richard?”His question surprises me. I feel my hands grab bunches of the filmy material of my dress.

“No.” I shake my head. Tom nods and then leans down and starts taking off his shoes. “Those are nice shoes.” I add softly.

“I like how good you are at avoiding talking about anything personal.” He looks up at me from his crouched position, one eyebrow raised. I purse my lips and then hop off the bed. It really is a hop, because it is a huge bed. I walk over, stopping in front of Tom, who is finishing untying his shoe.

“It’s easier that way.” I say quietly. He stands then, coming to his full height, and I’m suddenly nose-to-chest. I forget how tall he is. How imposing when he wants to be. I swallow, and then raise my chin slightly to see his face. He’s looking down at me, over the slope of his nose, his eyes unreadable.

“What if I don’t want easy?” He asks. His voice is like some kind of spell. I’m hypnotized.

“I’ll answer any questions you have. I just don’t like talking about myself.” I answer. He moves forward, widening his stance so I am standing practically within the wall of his body. I can see the slow, steady way he’s breathing. I can smell that perfect, intoxicating mixture of his skin and whatever the hell cologne it is he’s wearing. He always seems to be wearing.

“May I kiss you?” His voice is steady, careful. I nod, but I don’t say anything. He already knows he has permission. Tom leans down and I feel his hand come up to cup my face.

It is not our first kiss. It’s far from our first kiss. But the way his lips brush against mine, and then come down in a dizzying rush, it feels like a first kiss. Sweet but urgent and needy. Addicting. I melt against him, and Tom pulls me to him, my arms crushed against his chest. He’s warm, solid and unyielding.

“May I take off your shoes?” He breaks the kiss, murmuring into my ear as he kisses it, and then the side of my neck. I nod again, and then Tom is holding my hips and kneeling down ever so slowly in front of me. He kisses my throat and chest as he does, his lips moving down between my breasts, kissing the skin that is bare. I steady myself against his shoulders, then push my hands through his hair. I’ve been wanting to touch him like this all night.

He kisses his way down my stomach, kissing through the soft, gauzy fabric of my dress, his hands grabbing big handfuls as he works his way down. He kneels down completely in front of me, and reaches down, his hand coming to my bare ankle. I waver at his feather light touch, and he runs his hand down the back of my ankle and slips my heel off. I come down about four inches, and then he does the same to my other foot, tossing the shoe to the side.

Tom stays kneeling in front of me, then looks down, his hand disappearing under the long hem of my dress. I close my eyes as I feel his hand against my ankle again. I lean into him as he moves his hand up my leg, up the back of my calf and lingers on the soft skin at the back of my knee. I shiver against him, and he presses his mouth against my hip. His hand moves up farther, past my knee and then to the sensitive skin on my inner thigh.

I am completely lost. I am aching in ways I didn’t know were possible. He is going slow, taking his time, and I am beginning to wonder if this is some sort of dream. I grab onto his shoulders, pushing my hands against his shirt, and then lightly scratching my nails down, which makes him moan into my stomach. He runs his hand up farther, finally touching me between my legs, over my panties. Thank god I didn’t opt for the granny panties tonight. I shift slightly, feeling his hands slide over me as I am pretty sure I am going to black out any second.

Without speaking, Tom slips his other hand under my dress, up my thighs, and then slides my panties down in one quick, easy movement. Holy hell.

He finds the high cut in my dress, pushing the material open and aside like a curtain, and I’m suddenly somehow standing both fully clothed and entirely bare in front of him.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” He looks up at me, and I feel the blood rush up my chest to my face. I shake my head, smiling.

“Don’t. Don’t say that. You’re…” I pause and cover my mouth with my hand for a moment. “Normal men don’t say that.” I laugh. Tom shifts on his knees, and then reaches up, covering me with his big hand. I sway, then lean into him, unable to help myself.

“They don’t? What do they say?” He challenges with a smile. His hand is teasing me, and god, what is he doing with his thumb?

“Not t-that.” My breath hitches and I have to grab onto him.

“Darling, I’m just saying what I’m thinking. Well, about 78% of what I’m thinking. I don’t want to scare you.” He grins, and then slides one long, perfect finger inside of me. I feel a humming start within me, a buzz that is delicious and foreign, and making me forget my own name. It as if he can hear that same wonderful buzzing, as it gets louder, and as I can barely stand, Tom leans forward, pressing his mouth against me. He takes my leg, pulling it over his shoulder and then holds onto my hips, steadying me.

I’m honestly not sure what happens after that, but I know it ends with me lying shaking on the floor, and Tom grinning wildly like some mad man.


	15. May 2011: Safe Word

“Are you asleep?” I whisper this into Tom’s shoulder, some time later.  We’re lying entangled in the middle of the bed, most of the covers pushed off to the sides.  The room is dark, save for a small lamp on the nightstand that’s partially covered by Tom’s forgotten dress shirt.

“Mmm.” His response is a low rumble, just a noise.  I push my chin into the dip between his shoulder blades, and I take a deep breath.  I breathe in the scent of him.  Warm, clean, intimate. My limbs are heavy, sated.  I don’t want to move.  I don’t want to do anything.  But I’m not sure if I should stay.  How does this work?  Am I supposed to stay the night?  After a rather fantastic shag, he’s obviously about to pass out, and I’m already worrying about the awkward morning after.

“Tom? I should go…” I whisper hesitantly.  Tom shifts then, rolling slightly and nearly squishing me as he does.  He turns and wraps a long arm around me as he pulls me into his chest.

“No.” He says simply.  He hasn’t opened his eyes, and I’m not entirely convinced he’s not asleep.  Then he gently pushes me onto my back, sliding up next to me and half covering me with his body.  He nuzzles my neck, his eyes still closed. 

“Stay.” He grumbles, one hand covering my bare breast, as I feel him kiss my shoulder.  Ooph.  I know I’m not pregnant, but holy hell, I feel like I suddenly could be.

“Okay.” I manage.

I’m quiet for all of twenty seconds, before I have to talk again.

“We should talk.” I whisper, my voice breaking the silence of the room.  It is the kind of quiet that only hotels can give.  Somewhat foreign, sterile quiet.  Tom moves, but doesn’t speak.  He lifts his head slowly, looking at me with barely opened, sleepy blue eyes.  Ooph, I may be pregnant with twins.

“What would you like to talk about?” He asks slowly, his voice rough with sleep.  He licks his lips, and his eyes lower to my mouth. 

“I’m not still in love with Richard, but I’m still…dealing with all of that.” I blurt out.  Tom’s brow furrows and his mouth turns down slightly at the corners.  He clears his throat, opening his eyes fully.

“You’ve got quite the pillow talk.” He raises an eyebrow.  I curse softly, covering my face with one free hand.  The other is wedged somewhere under his naked torso.

“Most people don’t talk about former lovers while in bed with current lovers, but I suppose you are the type to make your own rules.” He blinks slowly at me, and I see the tug of a smile at the corners of his lips. 

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I’m not…comparing you two or anything—“ I start out, but of course it comes out sounding all wrong.  Tom makes a whooshing noise, and then he pushes up onto his arms, hovering over me.  He’s naked and lithe, looming over me on all fours.  I put my arms on his forearms, gripping tightly.

“I’m sorry!” I say, not quite able to make it without giggling.  He growls and then flops down next to me, onto his stomach.  He buries his face in a pillow, and I can hear his soft moan, but then a low chuckle.  I scoot over next to him, wrapping my arms around his bicep and pulling, trying to reveal his half hidden face.  He resists, but I can see the corners of his face.  I know he is smiling because of the tell tale crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“You’re much better, I swear.  If we are going to have that conversation.” I laugh, knowing that it’s not a conversation either of us wants to have.  Tom turns his face, watching me as I tilt my head back, laughing softly.  He is smiling, but it’s a slow smile.  Soft, and thoughtful.

“I’m sure my sister has warned you about me.  Of my awful, hedonistic, whorish ways.  She’s warned you to stay far, far away.” He says softly, watching me still, as if trying to read my mind.  I can still feel my skin tingling, feel the lovely sensitive ache between my legs.  I wonder if he will be up for round two soon.

“She’s mentioned a few things.” I reach over and run my hand down his back, rubbing the muscles near his spine.  Tom closes his eyes and I watch the way his lips part as he enjoys the sensation.  I take a deep breath, and I move, climbing on top of him and straddling his back.  He looks back at me for a second, and then I hover slightly above his ass and begin giving him a proper back massage.  We’re both quiet as I move my hands, and then begin planting kisses across his shoulder blades and down his spine. I brush the tips of my breasts across his back, and he groans and shifts underneath me.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” He laughs softly.  Without another word, he flips around, grabbing me by the hips and pulling me down and underneath him.  It happens so fast, I’m laughing and slightly breathlessly as he settles on top of me.  I can feel him, hard and ready against my inner thigh.  I reach up, running my hands over and down his chest as he braces himself over him.

“Should we even talk about what we’re doing here?” I ask, knowing that I need to know.  I’m a planner.  No matter what it is we’re doing, I just need to know.  It was supposed to be a one time thing.  It has evolved into something quite different.  Tom hesitates and then lowers himself slightly onto his forearms.  He shifts, nudging my legs open so he can settle between them.  My breath catches in my throat as I feel him against me, but not inside me.  Not yet.

“I really like you, Gracie. You’re really special.” He breathes softly, his voice intimate and honest.  I hold my breath, feel my heart racing.

“I have to be honest with you though. I don’t think I am in a place where I have a lot to offer.  I’m one hundred percent focused on work.  It wouldn’t be fair.” He sounds regretful as he says it, and it is a somewhat strange thing to say to someone when you are practically inside of them, but I appreciate his honesty.  We have never been anything but honest with each other.

“I understand. I do.” I nod, and I feel a tug in my chest. “I’m not ready for anything right now, either.”  It’s the truth, it really is.  And I hardly know him.  He’s just been a fantastic shag, and a new friend.  I’m not sure where the emotions are coming into play, but I have  a feeling it has to do with Richard.  With being alone.  With being abandoned.  All that mumbo jumbo that comes along with a childhood of neglect and a lifetime of lonesome.

“I don’t want to hurt you.  I think you’re bloody fantastic. Really.” He leans down and kisses me and I kiss him back.

“I agree with you, I do.” I nod as he pulls back.  He is watching my face closely.  “We should have some rules though…if we are going to do this.” I say.  He looks a bit relieved, and then he nods.  He’s still on top of me, our bodies pressed tightly to each other.  I have my legs bent and open, my feet resting against his calves. 

“Okay.” He looks practical and suddenly very studious.  I smile and hold back a grin.

“It’s…just sex.” I say sternly. He shifts, and he’s suddenly hot and hard, pushing gently against my entrance.  I gasp and push my head back into the pillow. Holy hell, what is happening?  He nods and then drops his forehead against me.

“Okay. Just sex.” His voice is strained. 

“Okay.” I breathe, and he pushes into me in one strong, smooth movement.  I can’t help but whimper, and I dig my heels into the back of his legs and his butt. 

“What…else?” He whispers roughly into my ear.  I can’t really think straight anymore, but I am trying.  Rules…rules…rules…things…sex…Tom…

“Umm…” I arch underneath him, and Tom leans down and takes my nipple into his mouth.

“I can’t…” I breathe, and then spout a few more nonsense words.  I pull him back up to me, kissing him desperately, wrapping my arms around his neck and holding him tight.  We roll and then suddenly I’m on top, and he’s beneath me, a huge grin on his face.

“Rules, darling?” He asks again.  I groan and then slap him playfully on his chest, as I sit up.  OH goodness gracious, there is a god.

“It’s just sex. No silly…emotions.” I say softly as I begin moving.

“Yes, you said that.” He is smiling at first, but then he grabs my hips and his eyes rolls back slightly and I’m pretty sure I’ve hit a sweet spot.  His hands grip me, burning into my skin. 

“We can…stop any time.  No hard feelings.” I manage.  He nods.

“Mhm.” He may not be listening anymore.

“If one of us gets into a relationship, we break it off immediately.  No cheating.” I grab his hands, and push them up my body and then to my mouth.  He opens his eyes, covering my lips with his hands and then wrapping one big hand around the back of my neck.  He pulls me down to kiss him.

“Yes. No cheating.” He lifts his hips, pushing up into me.

“OH god.” I can’t help myself.  Having a serious conversation during sex is about the worst and best idea that ever happened.  His voice is rough, strained.  Neither of us are really listening.  But you sort of feel free to say whatever you need to because well…orgasms.

“What’s the safe word?” Tom grins and keeps driving into me, one arm around my waist, the other up at my neck and shoulder.  I can’t even speak English for the moment, all that’s coming to me is French words.  _Baguette? Fromage… Merde._ Ihaven’t studied French since I was a freshman in high school, but it’s what my brain has reverted to. 

“Tom…” I manage his name, but that’s about it.  He laughs and then we roll again, and he’s on top.  I cling to him, and then he slips both arms underneath me as he moves.

“That’s not a good safe word.  Or else we’ll be stopping a lot.” He says. I don’t know how he can still form sentences.  I roll my hips against his, moving with him, and he’s suddenly quiet.  I grin against his neck, shutting my eyes and letting him take over.  We both only last for a few more moments, before he’s groaning, and I’m moaning and shaking and grabbing at his back.  Tom tenses above me, his hands grabbing fistfuls of pillow by the sides of my head.  I can feel myself still shaking, gripping him and I’ve lost my mind because I can hear myself making these tiny little noises but I have no control over it.

We both still, and Tom collapses onto me, his full weight on top of me.  It is delicious.  It is lovely.  It is the best part.  Okay, maybe not the _best_ part, but it is damn near close.  I can feel his heart beat pounding into mine, I can hear his breath and feel it against my neck. 

“Pineapple.” His voice rumbles against my shoulder.  I shrug back, trying to see his face.

“Excuse me?” I laugh, as he lifts himself up onto his forearms.  He leans down and kisses me, his lips soft and gentle.

“Pineapple.  Safe word.” He grins and then we both dissolve into a fit of giggles only really good sex, and a healthy dose of honesty can bring about.


	16. May 2011: Don't Leave.

I know it is early morning, but I am warm in my cocoon so I don’t really care. I know that I’m in Tom’s hotel room still, and that I will need to check out of my hotel (which I never actually set foot in except to drop off my things), and then make the four hour drive back to New York. But all those things can wait. For however much time I have before I need to get up, they can wait. I’m pretty sure this bed has a feather topper, and I know for a fact that the duvet is down. In other words, I am in bed heaven.

I wonder if Tom is awake. I open my eyes just a bit, hoping to get a peek.

Only…Tom isn’t there. I’m alone in this giant bed, and he’s gone.

I sit up quickly, clasping the duvet to my chest. I’m still completely naked, and he is still nowhere to be found. Not in bed. Not on the floor (I don’t know why he’d be on the floor, but just checking), and not in the bathroom.

That little shit left. Without saying goodbye. Again.

Scrambling out of bed, I trip over my own feet as I take the duvet with me, and then tumble softly into an awkward pile onto the plush carpeted floor. I’m not sure how it is that my knees are still wobbly, but good god, they are. And the muscles in my thighs ache as if I’ve had a good work out. Oh, it was a good workout, alright.

There’s a soft tapping at the door, and I look up from my pile on the floor.

Wrapping the blanket around myself, I shuffle over to the door and open it up just a smidge. There’s a hotel employee there, with a cart behind him. He has a name tag on that says “Ralph” and for some reason I wonder if that’s really his name.

“Room service.” Ralph says nonchalantly. I’m very aware that I’m standing there in only a duvet, with sex hair and a dopey look on my face. This guy has probably seen it many times before.

“Okay.” I say slowly. I open the door, letting him in, and then plaster myself to the wall, out of the way. I didn’t order room service, but I will gladly accept it.

“Would you like it over here?” He asks, gesturing toward the small sitting area. I don’t really care. I would just like for him to leave the food.

“Thank you. Um…I didn’t order food though.” I say quickly, my conscious getting ahold of me. Ralph looks down at a slip of paper and then back up at me, a curious look on his face.

“Mr. Hiddleston did. About an hour ago.” He says. Ah, the mysterious vanishing Mr. Hiddleston.

“Oh. Thank you.” I nod. Ralph smiles and then takes the lids off the trays, then quickly leaves the room. Well at least if Tom’s going to abandon me again, this time he left me with food. A goodbye would have been nice though.

I walk over to the cart, letting the blanket fall loosely around my shoulders.

Heaven. Waffles. Bacon. Juice, coffee and a huge lovely bowl of fruit.

I grab the bowl of fruit and a piece of bacon and stumble back toward the bed, kicking the duvet out and around me so I don’t trip again. I barely settle back onto the bed, sitting cross legged and surrounded by blankets and pillows, when I hear the door start to open again.

Wow. These hotel employees are super friendly.

“Ralph?” I frown.

“Who the hell is Ralph?” Tom sounds amused as he steps into the room, looking awake, handsome and rather sweaty. I pause, bacon midway to my mouth, the bowl of fruit in my lap.

“Oh, hi.” I manage. “Ralph is my new boyfriend. He brought me bacon.” I grin. Tom walks over to the bed and stops, puts his hands on his lean hips and narrows his eyes at me. He’s wearing a plain tshirt, which is a little sweaty at the neck and chest, and a pair of jogging sweats.

“Yes, but I am the one who ordered it for you.” He winks at me and my stomach does a little flip.

“Well, you may get in my boyfriend line then. It’s rather long.” I smirk and then quickly wonder if I should have said that. We are just friends with benefits. Or…fuck buddies, to put it a bit more crassly. I shouldn’t even be mentioning the “b” word. Tom laughs though, shaking his head and eyeing up the fruit in my lap.

“You look comfy.” He can’t hide his smile. I bite into the bacon and smile back.

“I am comfy. I thought you left, actually.” I hold out the other half of the bacon and he leans forward and opens his mouth. I hesitate for half a second, but then pop it into his mouth. He chews and looks blissfully happy for a moment.

“I left you a note.” He looks around the bed, and I do too.

“I didn’t see it.”

“I gathered that. You sleep like a tornado.” He grins as he leans over, picking up a slip of paper that is on the floor. He hands it to me.

_Good morning! I’m going for a run. I’ve order breakfast. Don’t leave. –T_

I read it quickly and then give him a sheepish grin.

“Sorry. I didn’t eat everything, I promise.” I nod toward the tray.

“Good girl. I’m going to get a quick shower and then perhaps I’ll eat the scraps of whatever you leave.” He raises an eyebrow at me, but laughs good naturedly. We had a great dinner at the diner the night before, but all our late night activities have left me ravenous.

Tom turns and kicks his shoes off, then peels his shirt off as he walks away. I watch the flat planes and sinews of his back move as he walks, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing as he tosses his shirt to the side. I’m suddenly feeling much less interested in the food and much more interested in what’s about to happen in the bathroom.

Tom turns just as he enters the bathroom, his fingers slipping under the waistband of his shorts.

“Unless, you’d like to join me. Then we could have breakfast together.” He says casually, leaning against the doorjamb. I swallow hard, pulling my lower lip into my mouth.

I don’t really think too hard, I just sort of react. I tumble out of bed, shedding the duvet like a cocoon, tripping over his trainers as I hurry toward the bathroom. He waits for a second, laughs at me as I stumble around, and then turns and takes off his shorts as he makes his way toward the shower. Holy moley.

There is a god, and he loves naked men just as much as I do.

****

“I’ve got to leave in forty five minutes. I have a plane to catch.” Tom glances at his watch, then bites into a piece of cantaloupe. I stab a grape with my fork and pop it into my mouth. We’ve been eating quietly since we got out of the shower. I’m not sure about Tom, but I’m starving. Neither of us are shy as we dig into the waffles and fruit. Tom gets up and grabs the coffee, refilling both of our mugs.

“Thank you.” I say between bites. “I’ve got to head back to New York. Where are you off to?” I ask. We are sitting across from each other on the bed. I’m wearing only a towel and Tom’s wearing boxer briefs. Red ones. What a little harlot.

“Paris.” He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That’s romantic.” I grin. He nods and then presses his lips together, looking pensive. He seems thoughtful, or perhaps he’s just hungry.

“It’s for work. I’ll be there for a few weeks, and then I’ll be back in London for a bit.” He takes a breath and we are quiet for a moment. We don’t really know much about each other. He talks a lot, but he doesn’t talk a lot about himself. I know a good bit about his family, but only because of Emily. It’s funny how easy it is to feign knowing someone when you’ve slept with them, but when it comes down to it—how intimate have we really been?

“Tom, about last night.” I look at him, and he meets my gaze. His eyes are always rather startling. It’s as if he looks through me. I falter for a second.

“Yes?” He leans back, and my eyes wander to his bare chest for a second. Focus, Gracie.

“I know we were sort of joking around and we were…preoccupied.” I take a sip of juice, my mouth suddenly feeling rather dry. “But I think it’s good if we have boundaries. If we have rules for this.”

“I agree. I’m glad we’re on the same page with it, Gracie.” He leans forward, his big hand coming to a rest on my thigh. “It’s not a…line, when I tell you that I like you. A lot. It just wouldn’t be fair to promise you anything. Not right now.” He looks at me, and I chew nervously on the inside of my lip.

“So…we agree then. We’ll just have fun together. Keep things light. And no hard feelings if we have to stop, for whatever reason.” I watch his face, and he nods, looking rather serious.

“ Yes.” He says simply. I nod and then take a deep breath. I can do this. I meant it when I told him I needed to get myself together. I’m still wrapping my head around the Richard mess. I like Tom. He’s sweet and funny and smart, and god knows, the sex is fantastic. I just need to make sure that I don’t get myself confused.

“Well. I should get going.” I say abruptly, yanking myself from my thoughts. Easiest way not to get confused—leave as quickly as possible. Tom hesitates for a moment, but then gets up and grabs a shirt from his bag. He pulls on a white button up, then quickly rolls the sleeves. He looks silly standing in boxers and a dress shirt, but it’s also oddly sexy. It reminds me of last night, when he’d let me undress him…

“I…” I look around, and it dawns on me. I came here in my evening gown. I’m going to have to do the most pathetic walk of shame ever. All I have is my gown. It’s half past nine in the morning.

“I’m going to look ridiculous.” I sigh heavily as I grab my dress off the back of the arm chair. Tom had been diligent enough last night to put it there, so it wouldn’t get ruined on the floor. He watches me for a moment, looking a bit regretful.

“Don’t worry, no one will see you. I’ll drop you off on my way to the airport. I have a car coming any moment.” He pulls on pants, then turns and starts rummaging through his suitcase.

“Thanks, I just feel silly in…” I hold up the dress, and he understands. I turn and then glimpse at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is mostly dry and hangs in soft waves around my face. I don’t look like too much of a mess, but I’m definitely not pulled together. I push my hands through my hair, then twirl it up into a messy bun.

“Here.” Tom slides up right behind me, and wraps his arms around my waist. I look up, seeing our reflection in the mirror. He presses something into my stomach, and I smile when I see what it is. A clean t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts.

“Thank you.” I smile. He pulls me into his front, hugging me gently and then kisses my shoulder before pulling away.

“They’ll be big on you, but at least you won’t be wearing a gown at half nine in the morning.” He grins. I gladly put on his shorts, rolling at the waistband. They’re big, but they fit alright. His tshirt is swimming on me, but it’s better than a wrinkled evening gown. It smells like him. Clean, masculine. It has a logo on the front for some bar called O’Rourke’s.

“O’Rourke’s?” I ask, looking down at my chest. He smiles.

“One of my favorite pubs. So you better get that shirt back to me.” He says as he sits down to pull on his shoes. I’m smile. I don’t need an excuse to see him again, but now I have a good reason to.

 


	17. December 2011: Happy Christmas & a Little Help

“I’ve met someone.” Santos climbs in bed next to me, squishing me up against the wall. There’s not a lot of room in a twin bed.

“Hmm?” I’m still feeling a bit jet lagged. We got into Sandbanks at nearly two a.m., after some terribly delayed flights due to some bad weather and winter storms. The house had been totally silent when we’d arrived. Emily had come down in her pajamas, bleary eyed and smiling. Santos and I had been dead tired, and we’d simply dropped our bags on the floor and then both fallen face first into our beds, still fully dressed.

I’m barely awake, but Santos seems more alive than ever.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to judge me.” He squishes me over more, and I push back against him. I’m awake now.

“Judge you? Who could you possibly be dating that I’d judge you for it? Satan?” I open my eyes. The room is familiar, but still somewhat foreign. The dove gray and blue walls. The old worn wood. English seaside. Christmas. Hiddlestons.

“Oh, I’ve dated Satan before. He was in a band, and he loved plaid in a totally unironic way.” Santos groans, and I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re terrible.”

“Don’t change the subject. Remember how I told you I slept with that hair dresser?” Santos watches me, trying to gauge my expression.

“Yes, the hairdresser with goals.”

“Yes, he has goals. He’s not _just_ a hairdresser.” Santos assures me. Not that there’s anything wrong with hairdressers. Santos is just insane and has it in his head that he’ll only date someone who works for a Fortune 500 company.

“Okay, so?” I wait, wondering if it would have killed him to let me sleep for just a bit longer before barging in to tell me this life changing news. Last week it was the hairdresser, the week before it was a designer for Banana Republic. Today…who knows.

“Well, it’s not the hairdresser. But it’s his brother. Yes, apparently he has a gay brother. It’s all very sordid.” Santos grins and I roll my eyes.

“You’re going to tear their family apart.” I joke, though I’m not sure if I’m totally kidding. Santos grimaces and then sighs.

“The hairdresser’s name is Bobby. His brother’s name is Cillian. It just sort of happened. And now I’m in love.” He kicks his long legs into the air and sways them back and forth, then reaches over and slaps me on the ass. I contemplate hitting him back, but then I just take a deep breath.

“So you’re in love with Bobby or Cillian?” I ask.

“Cillian, darling. Bobby is a hairdresser. Cillian is a Phlebotomist.”

“Do you know what a Phlebotomist is? Or do you just like saying it?”

“I just like saying it. Phlebotomist. Phlebotomist.” Santos laughs. “No, it’s something to do with doctor things.” I have to admit I’ve missed him. It’s been quite some time since we’ve last seen each other. Maybe two or three months. At the end of the summer, I was finally promoted at work. Vera asked me to come on board as a full time curator at the gallery. I happily agreed, and it’s been insane ever since then. Long days and weekends, I’ve been eat, sleep and breathing the gallery. It’s been a good change, and has kept my mind off my otherwise dull life, but I’ve barely had time for anything else. Santos included.

And he was made a lead architect at his firm, which is nearly unheard of for someone so young. So he’s spent the last few months basking in the glory of being an “architectural wunderkind.” His words, not mine.

“You should have asked him to come this week.” I say, rolling onto my side.

I had debated whether or not to come, but only briefly. I was surprised when my Aunt and Uncle actually invited me to Christmas at their house this year, but I just wasn’t sure if I was feeling up to it. I’ve barely talked to my Aunt Tara since last Christmas. I called her on her birthday, and her only response was to complain about how Danny and the kids didn’t get her anything worthwhile. And how all her family was terrible. She didn’t exclude me, so I’m guessing I was included in that lump statement. I knew for a fact that my father hadn’t called or contacted her in quite some time. He hadn’t called or contacted me either. I did get a card for my birthday, though it was two and a half weeks late.

So I had the choice between another uncomfortable, rather sad Christmas with my real family, or a happy, rather pleasant Christmas was people who were more like family to me than anyone else. It wasn’t a hard choice.

“It’s too soon for all that. Meeting the family and such. But you’ll meet him soon.” Santos smiled and grinned at me, his unnaturally white teeth shining in the early morning sun.

“Have you seen Emily this morning?” I ask as Santos stretches out. He shakes his head.

“She’s too busy shagging Marky poo.” We haven’t seen much of Emily either. She’s been back in London now for six months, working on a theater project.

“Ah, I wonder why they aren’t married yet.” I smile.

“I wonder why you haven’t just straight out asked me if I’ve seen Tom yet.” Santos slowly looks over, giving me some serious side eye, and then raises an eyebrow. Hm. Tom.

“Santos. Don’t.” I warn him. Of course Santos knows about our night in the hotel. Of course he knows all the major details (I kept all the really good stuff to myself. Some things just deserve to be hidden away for safe keeping). He also knows we’ve made up rules and boundaries like good, responsible, slutty adults.

“The answer to the question you’ve been dying to ask, but haven’t, is no, I have not seen Tom.” Santos clucks softly and shakes his head.

“Don’t.” I repeat.

“Girl, you yell at me for being all crazy, but I’m not the one dilly dallying with British royalty.” Santos laughs at his joke, and then scrunches his nose at me. I roll my eyes for the umpteenth time.

“Don’t.” I shake my head.

“He’s sort of super famous at this point. That movie he was in made about a billion dollars. And you’ve seen him fully nude. I feel like you’ve earned some sort of bragging rights.” Santos grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I have seen him nude, and it was fantastic, but we are just friends. Nothing more. it’s just sex. And you know I don’t care about the fame stuff.” I jut my hip out, pushing Santos toward the edge of the bed. He tumbles out after a second, and I see his pajamas clearly for the first time. He’s wearing head to toe green, with some crazy red and white striped socks. Santos the elf strikes again.

“So are you going to get it on when he gets here?” He asks, and then does a strange little elf jig on the slippery wooden floors. I laugh and throw a pillow at him, but it doesn’t stop him. Santos does this weird little dip, sticking his butt out and then does a dance move that is way too reminiscent of Miley Cyrus.

“Stop. And I don’t know.” I shrug and sit up. If I’m going to be honest, sure I wouldn’t mind it. My stripper name is still Lucky Hiddleston, and it makes me feel somewhat sad and pathetic. I’ve just had no time to meet anyone new. And with Santos out in DC, and Emily back in London, I don’t often go out to parties and I almost never go to bars. I’m back to regular old Hermitville Gracie. Population: 1.

“When did you last talk to him?” Santos asks as he finally stops twerking. I sigh.

“I don’t know. He’s busy. It’s been over a month.” Our texts are quite boring, to be honest. An occasional “Hello, how are you?” One time, about two months ago, things got a bit frisky, and we exchanged a couple rather heated texts. But after that, it got pretty quiet again. I never leave New York, and he is never in one place for longer than a few days, unless he’s working. I can see why he said he didn’t want a relationship. Who has time for one?

“Well, you just give me the sign, and I’ll make a distraction and you two can slip away.” Santos says, and then he does one more jig before laughing and bolting out of my room.

 

 ****

 

“Gracie, I heard the Hudson Gallery was thinking about opening a space in London.” Emily sits down at the dinner table, holding two glasses of wine and a basket of rolls in the crook of her arm. She hands me a glass, and I take a sip.

“Oh, lovely, darling, are you still with the same gallery?” Mrs. Hiddleston asks, her warm eyes glowing. Christmas Eve dinner. A precursor to games, and drinking, and then probably some very bad karaoke. This year, so far, it is the usual suspects. Mrs. Hiddleston, Emily and Mark. Barb, Brad and little Kimmy Forrester. Aunt May and drunk Uncle Tim. Aunt Rose and Mel. Rounding it out is family friends Erica and Pete York, a rather loud and feisty middle aged couple that have been bogarting all the wine all evening. Santos and I round out the group.

“I am, but I’m a curator now. It’s been pretty intense.” I say as a vision of Vera doing yoga headstands, while I desperately try to coordinate a new exhibit we will have up in the new year. I watch as Kimmy sits across the table, slowly flicking peas at her father.

“I’m sure it. Are they moving to London?” Mrs. Hiddleston asks, passing me a bowl of mashed potatoes.

“I’m not sure yet. Vera has talked about it, but I have a feeling it’ll be awhile before she acts on anything.” I nod. Vera takes weeks to simply pick a font for a new exhibit program. I can’t expect her to commit to opening a gallery thousands of miles away.

“It would be wonderful if we could see you more often.” Mrs. Hiddleston reaches over, grabbing my hand and squeezing it warmly. I feel a warm flush, and I can’t help but smile. She has repeatedly asked me to call her Dotty, but it just doesn’t seem right. She’s the sweetest, most caring woman I’ve ever met, and I feel like she deserves the upmost respect. She lets me come into her home, eat her food and all around mooch off her and her family during what is normally a difficult time for me.

“I would love that, I really would.” I smile and squeeze back. Already, the plane ticket to England this year has cost me an arm and a leg. I refuse to live off of Santos’ charity (or his parents), anymore. Thankfully, my salary at the gallery has gone up, and I can nearly afford to live in New York. Nearly.

“Em, how is the show going?” Santos pipes up. He’s been suspiciously quiet all evening. He seems preoccupied. He checks his phone every once in awhile, but most of the time he’s been quiet. It could mean many things. Maybe he’s jetlagged. Maybe he’s worn out from his job. Maybe he lost the bidding on a pair of rare designer cufflinks on eBay. I’m sure I’ll find out soon.

“Pretty good. It’s insanely busy. Opening day is in two and half weeks. I’m bloody nervous, but I’m sure it’ll be okay.” Emily smiles, and Mark reaches over, rubbing his hand encouragingly on her back. She seems so very happy with Mark. They’ve been together over a year at this point, and the newness hasn’t seemed to wan.

“You’ll be brilliant, lovey.” Mrs. Hiddleston claps her hands together, looking thrilled.

“We can’t wait to come see you!” Aunt Rose exclaims, brushing her silver gray hair over her shoulder. There is a murmur of agreement in the room.

“Have you spoken to your brother? I know you were upset the other week.” Mrs. Hiddleston frowns as she looks at her daughter. Emily rolls her eyes and groans, pushing her shoulders back. I’m a little annoyed that my ears perk up at the mention of Tom.

“What a prat. Of course I’m angry with him. He’s so bloody busy. One moment he says he’ll come, the next he says he has to work.” She frowns and then shrugs, taking a long sip of her wine.

“Darling, you know he’d be here if he could. He was so upset about missing Christmas.” Aunt May pipes in. Oh. Missing Christmas. So…he won’t be coming. I’d been dancing around the issue all day, but hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to ask someone. I felt like it was written all over my face. “I shagged Tom! Multiple times! And it was fantastic!”

“Ol Tommy boy, he’s quite a busy lad.” Uncle Tim says, though everyone ignores him. He’s already rather tipsy. Aunt May shoots him a look and then turns her focus back to Emily.

“Have you spoken to him recently?” Emily asks her mother. I put a forkful of food into my mouth, not really paying attention to what I’m doing. I’m trying to feign indifference, but really, I’m clinging to their every word. Santos is eating quietly as well, glancing at me every time Tom’s name is mentioned.

“He called me last night. He was upset, Emily. He wants to be here but it’s not in his control. Don’t be so hard on him.” Mrs. Hiddleston says gently. Emily nods but looks rather annoyed.

Dinner continues on. Conversation moves from Tom to weather, and health, and new year resolutions. Santos and I are both quiet throughout, mostly letting the “olds” carry the conversation. It seems different without Tom there, egging things on.

After dinner, things are quiet again. I play a game of cards with Mrs. Hiddleston and Aunt Rose. They ask me the obligatory questions about my love life, and work. I skirt around the issue as much as possible. Santos disappears into his room, his eyes plastered to his phone. I’m guessing it’s the Phlebotomist, but it could be anything. Emily and Mark make out on the couch for a bit before also disappearing into their room.

There are no silly drinking games. No one tries to ask me who the last person I slept with was (thank god). Santos goes to bed wearing regular pajamas, and not ridiculous striped elf ones. It is a much different Christmas than the one before. It is not bad. It’s just different.

I head to bed after one more card game. Mrs. Hiddleston and Aunt Rose make fun of me for being old.

“I’m not as young as I used to be, ladies.” I smile as I wish them a good night, and head up toward my little room. It’s nearly midnight as I change into a pair of pajama pants and a tank top.

Just as I slip into bed, my phone starts buzzing. It’s been in my room the entire night, as I haven’t had a need for it. Everyone I would want to talk to is here. Well, almost everyone.

That statement remains true when I see who is calling. My father. I stare at the number for a minute, but then take a deep breath and answer. It’s been quite awhile since we talked.

“Hi, Dad.” My voice is terse, clipped.

“Gracie. Hi babe. How’s it going?” His voice is just as I remember it. Rougher than it should be for his age. Deep, aged. Years of drinking and partying will do that. He’s barely past forty, but he sounds closer to seventy.

“It’s alright. Merry Christmas.” I say, glancing at the clock.

“Ah, oh yeah, Merry Christmas, babe.” He says. I wait, wondering why he’s calling. It is a terrible feeling, but I know this man. He doesn’t call me unless he needs something. That’s just how it goes.

“What are you up to?” I ask finally. There’s a rustling noise, and then he coughs softly, clearing his throat.

“Are you heading up to Tara’s for Christmas? I was thinking I’d stop by.” He asks.

“You should tell her if you’re doing that, Dad.” I say softly. My Aunt may not be all that thrilled to see my father. They don’t have the best sibling relationship. I’m not sure my father has a good relationship with anyone, really.

“Yeah, yeah.” He agrees. “So I was wondering if you would be around? I could stop by. I’m doing alright but I could use some help. Nothing big. I’ve got a job lined up in two weeks, but—“ He keeps talking, but I phase him out. I’ve heard it before. Many times before. Countless times before.

I used to loan him money. Give him money. But that got old after awhile. I used to let him come over, and spend the night when he was kicked out of a girlfriend’s house, or his heat was turned off because he partied away his rent money. But then he stole from me. A few times too, because at first I refused to believe my own father would steal from me.

The thing is, he’s not even an alcoholic. Or a drug addict. He’s just lazy and irresponsible. He wants things to come easy. He parties and has fun, and then wonders why he can’t pay his rent. He wants to ‘get rich quick’ and those plans hardly ever pan out.

Now, I barely listen to his stories, and then I tell him the same thing every time.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m not even home right now. I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.” I say this quickly, and I feel a stabbing in my chest as I do. It’s never easy. It’s never what I want to say or do, but I gave all I could give many years ago, when I was still just a kid.

I hang up after a few seconds, and then I feel the weight of the day settle in on me. Sometimes the holidays are not fun. The constant focus on family. It’s not the most wonderful time of the year when your family is shit.

I roll over in bed, pressing my face into the cool, soft pillow. My chest is heavy, and I just want to go to sleep and forget today even happened. I hear a tap on the door, and then it opens without much warning. Santos slips in. He doesn’t say anything, but just nudges me over in bed. I lift the covers and he slides in and settles in next to me.

“You know, for rich people and fancy houses, these walls are paper thin.” He says into the darkness after a half a minute of silence. “You’d think they could insulate them, or something. Line them with gold bars. I could hear every word you said.” We break into giggles, and I elbow him in the ribs.

“My dad again. Asking for money.” I say after I manage to pull myself together. Santos groans.

“I figured as much. Did he even remember it was Christmas?” He asks. I shrug, and then bite my lip.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Merry Christmas.” My voice is small, quiet. Santos sighs.

“If it makes you feel any better, my father called me today and wanted to know if I got his Christmas present. I said no, and he said he sent it to my apartment weeks ago. He sent it to my apartment. In New York. My fucking father didn’t even know that I’d moved to DC months ago. MONTHS, Gracie! It’s been nearly a goddamn year.” Santos exclaims, and then we both laugh because if we don’t laugh, we will cry. I jab him in the side, and we both keep laughing.

My phone starts buzzing again, and I groan. If it’s my mother, I will just throw the thing out the window.

But it’s not my mother. Not my mother at all.

“Hello?”

“Hello there.” Tom’s voice sounds far away, but it’s nice to hear it. It’s strange that it’s been a few months since I’ve heard it.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t real.” I smile. Santos is eavesdropping, his head nearly pressed against mine. I push him back, and sit up, leaning against the wall.

“I’ve been working non stop.” Tom says, his voice sounds amused but perhaps a little sad.

“Your family cursed your name all night.” I laugh softly.

“I bet they did. I was wondering if you’d be there. I’m glad you are.” He sighs. “I just wanted to call and say Happy Christmas.”

I stop laughing, and I sober up a bit.

“Happy Christmas.” I repeat back.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there.” Tom is quiet.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you whenever you’re done being an important actor.” I smile. The conversation seems stilted, if not forced. As if we are both walking with rocks in our shoes, each step a little awkward, a little painful. I’m not totally sure why he called, at this point. It can’t possibly be just to wish me a good holiday.

“Listen, Gracie. I wanted to tell you, before you maybe heard it from my family or someone else. I’m dating someone. She’s called Susie.” He says quite suddenly, and the purpose of the phone call becomes crystal clear.

“Oh, well…congrats…that’s…great.” I say awkwardly. _Congrats_ as if he’d gotten a new job, or won an award.

“I just thought you should know because…we’ve sent a few texts that were…” He fades out, and I remember the last text I sent him a month ago that may or may not have included a photo of my lace bra and a healthy dose of cleavage. My face flushes, and I suddenly feel like the biggest moron in the history of morons.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…know that you were dating anyone before when I sent you that text—“

“No, no, I wasn’t. I mean, Susie and I just started dating about two weeks ago. But I guess, well, I just wanted to tell you that we’ve got to stop with the, ah, texts.” He says this gently, but I still feel embarrassed, and a bit terrible.

“Right. Pineapple.” I say softly. He’s quiet for a minute, but then laughs very softly.

“Yes, pineapple.”

“Okay, well. I’m glad we had this chat. Merry Christmas, Tom. And Happy New Year. And all that.” I say quickly, and then without much else besides a rushed “goodbye”, I hang up on him before he barely has enough time to say anything.

I toss my phone over the side of the bed and it lands on the rug with a dull thud, then seems to bounce and slide across the wood floor. I turn over and press my face into a pillow, breathing in deeply, trying to ignore the quick, burning rush of angry, sad, frustrated tears that are threatening to fall. My heart feels heavy. My stomach is unsettled.

“Well, that was rough.” Santos says softly. I’d almost forgotten he was there, but now that he is, I’m glad. I turn my head and look at him in the dark. I can just make out the shape of his face.

“Just a little.” I whisper.

“I’m sorry, Gracie girl. I know you like him.” He says gently.

“Well, we were just friends. So it’s okay.” I say, but I feel my throat constrict. I feel more upset than I should. I knew this was a real possibility. But maybe it’s getting a terrible, disappointing call from my deadbeat father, followed closely by a call from Tom, that has me feeling lower than low.

Because I sort of expect to feel like shit because of my father.

Feeling like shit because of Tom is a different thing altogether.

And I know I shouldn’t. I know I should be happy for him. It was always our arrangement. If we found someone else, then we break it off, no hard feelings.

Then why do I keep asking the question… why not me?   It feels petty and shallow and immature, but I can’t help it. He said he didn’t have time for a girlfriend, and didn’t want a relationship. But apparently, what he really meant, was he didn’t want a relationship with me.


	18. December 2011: Ornaments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whoa. Hi everyone. I am so, so sorry it's taken me so long to update. If you are all still there, thank you for sticking around! December has been a crazy month for me, and long story short, I got sick with the flu and then Christmas snuck up on me and drained all my energy and time.
> 
> With that said, here's a few chapters! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy! I appreciate every comment and every kudos.

“I’m so glad you two came.” Emily sweeps her light hair back, over her shoulders. It’s New Years eve. We’re having dinner at Salterns, which is one of Emily’s favorite restaurants and one of the best on the peninsula. It’s just Emily, Mark, Mrs. Hiddleston, Santos and me. The rest of the Hiddlestons and their family have stayed back at the house. It’s good. I needed to get out of the house. Later, we’ll go back to the house and watch fireworks be set off over the water from the backyard.

Though it’s more of a vacation home than a family home, it still seems like Tom is everywhere. A photo of him and Emily on the beach. His name on a glittering Christmas ornament on their tree. Emily sporting an oversized hoodie with the name of his acting college on it—something I’m almost 99% sure she took from him. I wallowed in it for a few days, and then at some point it seemed a little strange and humiliating to be there. What was I doing? Hanging out at Christmas at the house of a one night stand? Of course, I didn’t initially go there to see Tom. A year ago, I hadn’t even known he existed. I tell myself it is different, and not all that sad, since I was friends with Emily way before I knew anything about Tom. Still, a tiny part of me feels a little pathetic. And lonely.

“Where else would I go?” Santos takes a drink of prosecco and then sighs. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the same insecurity as I do. Then again, he never slept with a member of the Hiddleston family. That I know of.

“My mother is in Barcelona with her new boyfriend, or as she calls him her ‘life partner’. My father lives at the hospital.” He shrugs. “Besides, I love all you people. You’re fantastic. You’re my real family.” He looks over at me and smiles, and then winks at Emily. Mrs. Hiddleston makes a soft “aww” noise.

“It’s not a bad family to have.” Emily smiles and lifts her glass to us. We all cheers, and take sips. We’ve had a fantastic meal, and I feel full and a bit buzzy from the wine.

I can feel Mrs. Hiddleston watching me, and I raise my eyes, meeting hers. She smiles warmly. She really is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. Kind and caring in an understated sort of way.

I’ve been quiet for most of the dinner. Feeling rather introspective on this new years eve. It’s been over a year since Richard. A year since I met Tom. Many things have changed, and yet I feel strangely the same.

“What about you, Gracie? You never talk about your parents.” Mrs.Hiddleston asks gently. I poke at the chicken on my plate, feeling a lump forming in my throat.

“Gracie hardly talks about her feelings. Or anything having to do with emotions. Not really her thing.” Santos butts in, reaching over and rubbing my shoulder. I give him a quick smile, but we both know he’s right.

“I don’t blame you.” Emily laughs.

“My mom’s sort of a mess. We don’t speak very often. My dad’s the same. I’ve only honestly met him a handful of times, and it’s always terrible when I do. He actually called me a few days ago, asking for money.” I sigh. Santos grunts and shakes his head. Mrs. Hiddleston looks stunned, but then her expression softens.

“I’m sorry to hear that, lovey. It always saddens me when I hear about parents who act more like the child in their relationship.” She says softly. She reaches down and pulls something out of her bag, and then grins at both me and Santos as she leans across the table, handing each of us a small wrapped package.

“What’s this?!” Santos exclaims, his mouth opening slightly. I take the package.

“Just a little something for you two for Christmas. I’m sorry it’s a few days late.” She smiles warmly. Santos grins and tears into his present, and I do the same, but with a little more care. We both gasp softly when we pull back the paper and see that we’ve received Christmas ornaments. Each one has our name hand painted on it.

“Everyone in our family has an ornament with their name on it for the tree. I thought it was time you two did as well.” Mrs. Hiddleston says gently, and I’m pretty sure Santos starts crying instantly. It’s just a little bit of watery eyes, but I can tell he’s touched. And so am I. I feel this ache in my chest, and my eyes burn a bit as well.

“Mrs. H.” Santos says, his voice suddenly high and a bit squeaky. We stand up and there are hugs all around.

“I love my kids. It’s nice to have you all here as well. I hope you’ll continue to come for the holidays or whenever you want.” She says as she wraps her arms around me, pulling me into her. I hug her tightly, and my throat tightens. I cannot remember the last time I received a hug like this. Warm, caring, maternal. It has been a very, very long time.

“Thank you.” I manage to whisper. It’s all I can really say. It was a simple gesture, but it means a lot and I can’t quite form the words to say it. Mrs. Hiddleston pulls back, squeezing my arms as she does, her warm, light blue eyes sparkling.

“You’re always welcome in my home.” She says and then turns and holds onto Santos’ hand for a brief moment. Santos grins and then pulls her into a huge bear hug. I smile weakly, and sit back down next to Emily. We both watch Santos weep happily and talk animatedly to Mrs. Hiddleston.

“Your mom is amazing.” I whisper softly to Emily, touching the sides of my eyes. I look down at the glittery ornament in my hand, twirling it slowly. Emily wraps her arm around my shoulders.

“I know. She really is. And she means what she says.” She winks at me.

“It means so much to me.” I nod, swallowing hard. It has been a long time since I felt like I had any sort of family besides Santos.

“Well, welcome to the family. I’ll warn you now—it comes with a lot of drama, family ridiculousness and drunken festivities. You’ve really only seen the tip of the iceberg. You should come around for Easter sometime.” Emily laughs softly, shaking her head.

“Sounds great.” I say. And it really does. Emily turns and looks at me then, her eyes inquisitive.

“Do you talk to my brother much?” She asks, tilting her head a bit. I hesitate, pressing my lips together.

“No, not much.” It’s the truth.

“Oh, that’s too bad. I’ll admit…” She chuckles softly, and takes a sip of her wine. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Hiddleston and Santos sit back down. Of course Emily knows about me and Tom, but Mrs. Hiddleston doesn’t. And for whatever reason, I’d rather it stay that way. Thankfully, Emily keeps our conversation quiet.

“I’ll admit. I know I warned you off him, but a part of me hoped you’d be able to tame him. Get him to calm down a bit. You’d be so good for him.” Emily scrunches her nose, smiling as if it was such a silly concept. I laugh, shrugging my shoulders. I feel a sharp tug in my gut, remembering the awkward conversation Tom and I last had.

“I’m not sure even boring little old me could get someone like him to calm down. He’s got a lot going on.” I say diplomatically.

“Please, you’re not boring.” Emily shakes her head, and raises an eyebrow at me. “He does have a lot going on. He’s always going from one girlfriend to another, but I don’t really think he knows what he wants. He wants something monogamous, but he’s sort of frivolous. Always falling ‘in love’ quickly, and then realizing it was just infatuation.” Emily sighs, and then glances at Mark. Her eyes go soft, and a bit far away. She’s so in love with Mark, it’s almost sugary sweet sickening.

“Well, at least he’s finding someone. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date.” I sigh and widen my eyes at Emily. The truth is, I don’t know if I’ve ever gone on a real date. The kind where the dude picks you up at your house, brings flowers and then you go out for some nice dinner. Dates these days consist of hanging out with a group of people or meeting up somewhere for drinks. Really romantic.

“I find that hard to believe.” Emily shakes her head.

“Well, believe it. It’s okay though. I’m so busy with work. I don’t really have time for all of that.” I shrug and pick up my glass, draining the rest of the wine. Emily chuckles and then reaches over, squeezing my arm.

“There’s always time for all of that.” She smiles gently and then for whatever reason, Tom’s smiling face pops into my head.

 

 


	19. February 2012: Big Statement

The air is bitterly cold as I make my way home. I wrap my coat tight around myself, cursing the fact that I wore a dress today. I have on knee high boots, and thigh highs, along with a heavy wool jacket and a huge scarf, but I’m shivering as I make my way down the street. I’m looking forward to getting home. It’s nearing eight, and I’ve been at the gallery since seven this morning. Partially of my own volition, partially because there is so much to do there.

I duck my head down as I walk, trying not to pay too much attention to the restaurants and stores around me. It’s hard though. Everything is red and pink and heart shaped. Valentine’s Day. Quite possibly the worst holiday ever. Even when I was dating Richard, I didn’t care for it. All the forced emotions, and pressure to make a big statement.

Not that I should have really cared either way. Richard never really made any sort of statement, big or little.

I round the corner to my apartment building when I hear my phone beeping in my pocket, and I feel the vibration of it against my side. I pull it out, my hands instantly numbing in the cold air.

It’s a text message. And I’m shocked when I see who it is.

_I’m in New York. I’ve just landed. I know it’s a long shot, but are you busy?_

I haven’t talked to Tom since Christmas, when he declared he was dating whoever, and we had to pineapple the whole whatever we were doing. And now he’s in New York. In my city. And he wants to know what I’m doing. Talk about last minute. Still, I already know what I’m going to say. There’s really only one answer.

I nearly walk past the door to my apartment because I’m staring at my phone, making sure it’s actually a message from him. I stop outside the door to the building and quickly text him back.

 _I’m free. Come to my apartment._ I text, and then send him my address. I bite my lip, feeling a gust of cold wind nearly blow me over.

 _Okay. Be there soon._ Brief. To the point.

My heart is racing as I shove my phone into my coat pocket. I rush into my building, halting at my mail box to get the bills and pointless mail that piles up there. I idly shuffle through it as I walk up the three floors to my apartment. I see the envelopes and junk mail, but nothing’s really registering. My mind is elsewhere.

Tom is in New York. Tom is coming over. Why is he here?

My heart is still thumping as I quickly open the door to my apartment. I look around hastily, trying to see what needs straightening before he comes. I haven’t had anyone over in quite some time. Santos when he was last in town. He told me I lived like a 90 year old grandma, and I might as well buy a dozen cats and call it a life.  

It’s a small place. It’s technically a one bedroom, though just barely. The one plus side to it is the tall ceilings. It’s an old refurbished building, so the duct work is all exposed, giving it a loft feel. But the apartment is tiny. It’s mostly just one room—a small but well laid out kitchen that moves right into the sitting area. There’s a wall that’s about ten feet tall, and doesn’t meet the ceiling, but it separates the bedroom from the rest of the apartment, giving some semblance of privacy. It is perfect for me. The rent isn’t cheap, but it’s cheaper than most and I can afford it, if just barely.

Things are surprisingly neat, so I just throw some dishes into the sink and gather up some of my clothes, tossing them into my tiny closet in the bedroom and shutting the door. I rush around the apartment, scanning things and making sure I’ve left nothing out that screams ‘old lonely spinster’. Okay, so perhaps I’m not old, but the lonely spinster thing still seems applicable. It’s only slightly mortifying that Tom is still the last person I’ve slept with. He’s the only person I’ve slept with in the past year. Let’s just call it a draught, with only one or two Tom storms to drench the parched--- okay, I’ll stop there. I’m nervous and getting carried away with my analogies.

I finally take off my coat, tossing it over one of the two chairs in the kitchen. I stop there, taking a breath and smoothing back my hair. I need to look calm and nonchalant when he gets here, not frazzled and psychotic. I grab a bottle of wine sitting on the counter, and quickly pour myself a healthy glass full. I down it, as I lean against the tiny counter, trying to calm myself.

He probably just wants to talk, right? He just wants to catch up and see how things are. We’re old friends at this point. Just a chat, and maybe some coffee. Maybe he’ll want to get a late dinner. I could take him to the little diner around the corner, since he seems to enjoy diner food. Or maybe I’ll take him for sushi. He probably likes sushi. He seems adventurous.

What if he’s not alone? What if he has whatever his flavor of the month is with him? I blink a few times, and take another gulp of wine. I didn’t think of that. It’s probably true. He probably has some gorgeous model with him, with legs up to my neck and an IQ of 4.

I look down at what I’m wearing. My black mini dress and dark thigh highs, with my leather boots. It’s a good outfit. It’s chic and put together—a work outfit, but it’s not bad. Maybe I should change. I don’t have time to change. He doesn’t matter, I don’t need to change. He will be here any minute with Miss America. Maybe I should change.

I slump against the counter, pressing my face into my hands. I’m a mess. A total wreck. I sit up and take another sip of wine, looking for something to distract me. I sort through the mail I tossed on the counter. Mostly bills. Some credit card offers (like I need another one of those to add to my collection). One envelope stands out.

It’s a large one, heavy and my name is printed in a fancy calligraphy on the front. I frown as I flip the oversized envelope over, peeling open the back. I pull out a few thick pieces of heavy, cotton cardstock. It’s all white, some of it shimmers with a pearlized effect. A wedding invitation.

It only takes me a few seconds to read and realize who it’s for. Richard and Carmen. He’s invited me to his wedding, that asshole. I stare at the script for a few seconds, the words blurring together. _Share our Joy. All our love. Happiest day. Barf barf barfity barf._

I hold the invitation in my hand, not quite sure how I feel. I mostly feel numb. Perfectly, terribly numb. He’s marrying her. This person I thought I knew and loved for years, now a stranger. Now having a happily ever after with someone else. Someone who swept in, and took everything away from me so quickly, so fast, that I didn’t even know what had hit me til I was lying flat on my back, looking up at the dreary gray sky.

My stomach clenches, and for a split second I think I may throw up. I take a few deep, measured breaths. I need to stop letting him have such a hold on me.

I toss the invite onto the counter, and pour myself some more wine just as there’s a knock at the door.

Tom. My emotions suddenly seem frayed and weary, like I’m swimming in a pool of them. I toss back my wine and then try to shake Richard out of my head as I walk to the door.

I open it quickly, feeling my heart rattling in my chest as I do. I prepare myself for the worst.

Tom looks nearly the same and…he seems to be alone. His hair, ever changing, is light and sandy colored, short on the sides and longer on top. His face is the same though—sweet and open and brilliantly happy. His ocean blue eyes smiling, and crinkled at the corners. He’s wearing dark jeans, and what looks like a black cardigan under a quilted black jacket. It feels like a punch in the gut to see him, standing just outside my apartment door. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a gorgeous bunch of blood red roses in his other hand.

“Hi.” I manage finally, taking a step back. God, he’s gorgeous. I feel him in my stomach, in my arms and legs, in my chest. He has this horrible effect on me, like I can’t breathe quite right. Like there’s just not enough oxygen in the air.

“Hello there.” He smiles, and I feel like a walking cliché with my weakened knees and my slightly sweaty palms.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He says and lifts the flowers up and toward me. I stare at them for a second, but I don’t take them. I can’t remember the last time I was given flowers. Let alone what looks like two dozen gorgeous red ones.

“Come in.” I say, but neither of us move. We sort of stare at each other for a moment. Then Tom finally makes a move, stepping forward. My brain gets the memo, but my body won’t move. I stay put, standing frozen at the doorway. He steps forward, and is suddenly right in front of me, mere inches away.

He’s tall. So wonderfully tall. Ugh, I hate him.

“Are you going to let me in?” He asks, his voice low. It goes straight to my gut and then lower.

“You’re alone? No Miss America?” I ask softly, speaking before I can think. He frowns slightly, but looks amused.

“Miss America?”

“Are you seeing anyone?” I ask, and then look up into his eyes. I see something pass through them, like a cloud through a perfect blue sky. He gives me a barely perceptible shake of his head.

“No. Not seeing anyone. Just you at the moment.” He licks his lips. Okay then.

Maybe it’s the not seeing him in 9 months. Maybe it’s the getting a wedding invitation to my ex’s wedding. Maybe it’s the Valentine’s Day that is inevitably swirling through the air. I don’t know what it is, but I suddenly push him back against the wall in the tiny hallway, slam the door close behind him and then I pretty much smash my mouth against his. No decorum, no whispy, lustful coy glances. I just shove him back against the wall, which his head hits with a dull thud, and then I launch myself onto his mouth.

Thankfully, and to his credit, he responds instantly. We stumble backward until he’s flattened against the wall. I hear his bag hit the floor with a thump and the flowers follow suit. He pushes his hands through my hair, holding my head to him. His mouth is warm, though his skin is still a little cold from the weather outside. I grab handfuls of his jacket, yanking him to me hungrily. I don’t care if I seem crazy, or desperate. I feel a little desperate. As if I will die if I don’t have him. Perhaps I can’t feel much at the moment, but I can feel this, and I can feel the way he’s sliding his tongue against mine.

I push my hips into his needily, and I can already feel him hard against my stomach and hips. Tom groans and then reaches down, grabbing onto my hips as he holds me to him. There is something satisfying and fulfilling about feeling him respond to me like this. So easily, so effortlessly.

He reaches down farther, running his hands down my back and then over my ass. He pushes my skirt up, his hands against my thighs and butt. He grabs two handfuls, grunting into my mouth as he lifts me up. I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, and he lifts and starts carrying me. I don’t know where we are going. He can’t know where we are going, but he starts walking as he keeps devouring my mouth and then my neck. He bites me gently, scraping his teeth against my skin and then sucking as he moves down the column of my throat. I shiver against him, and start kissing his face, his hair, whatever I can reach.

We are both wearing far too many clothes. He hasn’t even taken off his jacket.

He walks toward the kitchen and sets me down onto the counter, running his hands up and down my thighs as he does. He pushes my dress up high on my thighs and then nearly up and around my waist. Tom looks down, seeing my lace top thigh highs, contrasting with the lightness of my thighs.

“Holy god, you’re fucking sexy.” He breathes, looking at me hungrily.

I grab him pulling me toward me as I push his jacket off his shoulders. He is wearing a cardigan and a tshirt underneath, and I push his cardigan off as well. His arms are strong, more muscular than I remember. I run my hands over his chest, and down his arms, then push them under his tshirt. Tom grabs my hips, pulling me to the edge of the counter and surging against me. Oh god. Talk about a big statement. Maybe I love Valentine’s Day.

“I need…” I’m lucky if my IQ is over 4 at this point. I reach down and grab him by the waist of his jeans, then start fumbling with the button and fly. My fingers are clumsy and refuse to work like they’re supposed to. Why can’t we all just wear Velcro pants? Much less sexy, but so much easier to open. If I don’t have him soon, I feel I will just break into pieces.

“Let me…take you to your bedroom.” He groans as I push my hands into his jeans, and take hold of him. His arms come down on the counter on either side of me, and he seems to brace himself for a moment. I bite my lip, hard, as I feel him hot and heavy in my hand. His skin is so soft, and yet I feel the power and strength of him as I run my hands up and down the length of him.

“No. Now. I need you now.” I murmur into his ear, and then take his earlobe into my mouth, nibbling gently. Tom groans and then everything is at super speed. He pulls my hands out of his pants, and then grabs me, pulling me to the very edge of the counter so that I’m teetering on the brink. We’re both fully clothed still, though he’s standing before me completely exposed. It’s a sight that, in that moment, is quite possibly the sexiest thing I have ever seen.

Tom reaches down between my legs and pushes my panties to the side. He takes my hips as he steps up to me, then leans down and kisses me hungrily as he pushes into me in one smooth, deep movement.

We both gasp and still, and I feel his whole body tense around me as he enters me. His shoulders and chest and arms are rock hard as he freezes. I grab onto him, pressing my chest against his.

Neither of us move for a moment, as we both revel in the feeling. Hot skin against hot skin. He’s so hard and seems huge inside of me, and I have never felt anything so intense. I whimper into his shoulder and then bite him, as it’s all I can even think to do. It’s instinctual. He gathers me in his arms and then we start moving, slowly, painfully slow. I fight the urge to move against him, make him take me hard and fast. He seems to enjoy the torture, and I can’t say I mind it.

I wrap my legs around his hips, slip my hands under his shirt, feeling his tight stomach and soft skin. I rake my nails over his sides and back. He groans and keeps moving, slowly, grinding against me. I feel pleasure build, and it is so good the thought passes through my head that I wish we could stay like this all night.

I can’t help myself as I move my hips with his, urging him to pick up the pace. I feel hungry for him—like I need more. I need it all. He murmurs something into my shoulder and then kisses me, pulling back ever so slightly.

“Gracie, fuck, you need to give me a minute.” He chuckles softly, and something about his statement turns me on even more. That I can make him feel that way. I ignore him, giving him a little smile, and I move faster, grabbing his ass, making him take me harder and faster.

Tom seems to get the idea, and then he seems to sort of lose his mind. He drives into me, taking me all the way. I can feel the muscles in his arms bunch as he pushes into me, bracing himself on the counter. I let my head loll back, feeling nothing but him.

I go right along with him, and the next few minutes are nothing short of delicious oblivion. It leaves us both out of breath, hearts racing, a bit sweaty and completely buzzing with pleasure.

We stay, slumped against each other at the counter for quite some time. I don’t want him to leave. He places little kisses against my neck and then up onto my face and forehead. I wonder if he will stay the night. I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not.

A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, before he moves, pulling away from me and I gasp softly as he does. He tucks himself back into his pants avoiding my eyes as he gets things in order. I stay on the counter, feeling still a bit in shock and wondering if my legs will work when I get down. I close my legs as he moves away, and I can feel the absence of him. It makes me feel dizzy and strange.

Tom finally looks at me, his eyes clear and almost frighteningly blue.

I know I’ve made a mistake, but I’m powerless at this point to fight it.

“How long are you in town?” I ask, trying my best at normalcy, though I can feel the evidence of what just happened against my inner thighs. Tom clears his throat, and I notice he has a tiny lovebite on his neck. Whoops. I don’t remember doing that.

“Just tonight and tomorrow. I have a meeting in the afternoon and then I fly back out in the evening.” He leans against the counter next to me, crossing his arms over his chest. We’re both quiet and I feel reality quietly sneak up behind me.

“It’s good to see you.” I manage, and I look at him. Sex is easy. With him it is so easy. It’s effortless. It’s everything else that is hard.

“You too.” He smiles at me. I make a move to hop down off the counter, and when I land softly on the ground, my knees and thighs give out slightly and I stumble. Tom lunges forward, steadying me and we both laugh softly.

“Thanks.” I say as I gain my footing. My thighs feel wobbly and a bit like jello.

“I’m just going to go…clean up and change. I’ll be right back.” I say awkwardly, gesturing quickly toward the bathroom. Tom just nods, watching me. “Um, make yourself at home. Have some wine.” I point toward the half empty bottle on the counter that I had been drinking earlier. He nods and then I turn and quickly make my escape to the bathroom.

I shut the door behind me, and then slump down onto the side of the tub.

For someone who swears she doesn’t have any emotions, I am suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed. I don’t want to be a stereotypical girl. I know sex doesn’t equal love. I know sex can be just sex. I know that’s what we’re doing.

But why do I feel this way? Simultaneously wonderful and sated and completely alive and buzzing, and then at the same time…totally hollow inside?

I take a few minutes to pull myself together, and then I clean up. I change into yoga pants and a light weight hoodie, figuring it doesn’t really matter what I look like at this point. I wash my face, which seems blotchy and overheated and then I make my way back out to face whatever it is I left drinking wine in my kitchen.

Tom’s sitting on my couch, with a glass of wine in his hand. He’s taken his shoes off, and put his cardigan back on. He looks comfortable and at ease, and…like he belongs there, sitting on the couch in my tiny apartment. He looks up as I come in, and he smiles, then holds out a glass of wine to me.

“Come sit.” He pats the spot next to him. I obey, tucking my feet under me as I sit next to him and take the glass. He turns, angling his body toward me. He looks tired, and relaxed.

“I like your place. It’s very you.” He smiles. I nod and shrug.

“Thanks.”

“Everything okay?” He asks gently. I nod and take a sip of wine.

“Yes.”

“Want to talk about it?” He chews hesitantly at his bottom lip and then throws his arm across the back of the couch. I blink, not sure what he’s referring to.

“Talk about what?”

“It’s not just a coincidence that you jumped my bones the moment I walked in, and your ex-fiance is getting married, is it?” He asks, gesturing to the wedding invite that is now sitting on my coffee table. He must have seen it on my kitchen counter. I feel my heart sort of skitter to a stop. He’s not really being accusatory and he says it gently, with humor in his voice, but I know what he’s saying. He thinks I used him. I don’t know if he’s totally wrong.

“I’m sorry if…it seemed like…” I don’t know what to say. Tom takes a long drink from his glass, and then reaches over, takes my hand in his and kisses the back of it gently.

“It’s okay.” He says easily, but when I look in his eyes, I see something else. Something I can’t quite pin down.

“I don’t know what to say.” I narrow my eyes, feeling terrible. Talking about my feelings is pretty low on my list of things I enjoy doing. We’re quiet for a few awkward moments.

“Maybe I should go.” He says softly, his eyes searching my face.

“No, please. Please, don’t.” I say instantly, leaning toward him. Tom hesitates and takes a deep breath, waiting. Waiting for me.

“I just got the invite. Right before you got here. It’s just a little…confusing.” I manage. Tom nods, and keeps waiting. He’s not going to let me off easy. I sigh and press my hands to my face.

“You are like this little safe. All locked up.” He tilts his head, watching me still. He’s not accusatory. He never is. He just doesn’t mind speaking what we’re all thinking. I look at him, feeling a tug in my chest as if it’s pulling me to him.

“I was in love with a man who I thought I was going to marry. Now he’s marrying someone else. And who knows how long he told me he loved me, while he was picturing someone else in his head. These kind of things can really fuck with you.” I say in a quick, rushed sentence. Tom’s face softens slightly and his arm that’s on the back of the couch comes down around my shoulders.

“You didn’t deserve that, you know. Richard is an idiot.” He offers. I shake my head.

“I’m not looking for pity or anything. I know I didn’t deserve it. I was a good girlfriend. I was a damn great girlfriend. He fucked up, not me. But all that doesn’t really matter, because…it still hurts. And I don’t really know how to deal with it—the betrayal, the ache. At the end of the day, he’s found his person and I’m…having sex with my vacation fling in my kitchen.” I scoff slightly, and then crack a smile.

“Sorry.” I glance at him and he gives me a little half smile.

“You don’t know what he has, Gracie. Don’t do that.” Tom leans over, kisses the side of my head at my temple. “We just know what he lost. And that’s a lot. Just know that not everyone is like that. Not everyone lies.” He says into my hair. I nod, hoping he’s right.

“Would you? Would you lie?” I ask softly, praying my voice doesn’t waver. He brushes his lips against the side of my head, against my hair.

“No. Not to you.” He whispers. I swallow hard and lean against him slightly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“Gracie.” He cuts me off. “We made an agreement. Months ago. Are we still on the same page?” He asks, looking at me. I search his eyes, not sure exactly what he’s asking.

“Yes. Of course.” I blink. Friends with benefits. Just that. Nothing else. I wonder if he’s ever going to talk to me again. He must think I’m some emotionally unstable, needy, clingy girl.

But I don’t see disgust in his eyes. He just sort of looks at me, his expression inquisitive, maybe a little confused.

“Grace—“ He starts, but then pauses. I hold my breath, watching him. It’s strange to feel like you know someone well, and at the same time feel as if they are a total stranger. It’s quiet, and we both seem at a bit of a loss for words.

I hear what sounds like Tom’s stomach grumble, and we both chuckle softly.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, smiling, glad for the distraction. He smiles.

“I’ve been traveling all day. I didn’t really eat much.” He sighs, patting his stomach. His big hands are distracting as he rubs them over his tshirt clad stomach and chest.

“Let me make you something. Or we can go out.” I say, springing up off the couch, needing to move. Tom smiles and shakes his head.

“You don’t need to make me anything.” He grins. I shrug and turn to go into the kitchen, which is really only a few feet away.

“Shush. Sandwich? I have turkey and provolone. Or I can make you a grilled cheese. You look the sort that would like grilled cheese.” I smile, and start rustling around in the kitchen. Tom turns on the couch, watching me over the back of the sofa.

“Do I? Do I look like I’m five?” He laughs, and the air is suddenly much lighter.

“No, you don’t.” Flashback to fifteen minutes ago, and he definitely did not look like a child.

“Do you want soup too? I feel like it’s customary to have tomato soup with grilled cheese.” I make myself busy in the kitchen, making way too many sandwiches and opening cans of Campbell’s. I can see out the kitchen window, and feel a slight draft coming in through the old window panes. It’s freezing out, and I can see a light dusting of flurries swirling around.

Tom watches me for a few minutes, and we chat idly about things. Work, his travelling, the holidays that just passed. He gets up off the couch as I start flipping the sandwiches, and the soup starts bubbling on the stove. He walks up behind me, and slips his arms around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. I feel him nuzzle his face into my neck and I let myself relax in his arms, closing my eyes for a moment. This is dangerous. It feels far too domestic, too real. Standing in my kitchen, making sandwiches, with him.

“Can I stay tonight? I can get a hotel, but I’d rather stay with you.” He spans his big hands over my stomach and hips, and I feel my insides clench and react. It’s not a good idea. I know it’s not.

“Yes. Stay here.” I whisper. He sways with me for a second and then leans forward, catching my mouth with his. The kiss is sweet and slow, and I only break it when we can both smell the sandwiches burning a little.

I plate the sandwiches, and ladle soup into bowls, and then we eat standing up in my kitchen, dipping our sandwiches in the bright orangey red soup. Tom’s all smiles and witty banter, and my apartment suddenly seems warm, and full and welcoming.

Dear god, I hope we are on the same page still. Some part of me feels like somewhere, at some point, I’ve flipped onto the next.


	20. February 2012: Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback, and comments. I truly appreciate it. This is a short chap, but more to come soon!

Santos sits with a thud, and throws his iPhone down on the little table in front of us.

“Hello to you too.” I say, watching him as he sheds his coat, scarf and beanie. I somehow convinced him to come in to New York for the weekend, and he’s just arrived from DC. It’s been snowing since the weekend, and I’m shocked he made it into the city in decent time.

“Fuck fucking New York.” He raises an eyebrow at me and sighs, then orders a latte from our waiter, who has been lurking at the side of the table.

“Blasphemy. Don’t talk shit about New York.” I say, crossing one leg over another and shaking my head disapprovingly. The café is one of our favorites. It’s nestled between two Starbucks, but the coffee is infinitely better, and they serve alcohol. One of Santos’ requirements.

“You’re right. New York is the best.” He says blandly, reaching across the table and breaking off half of my chocolate chip scone. He chews it while staring at me, and then eats the other half as well in two bites.

“Have you been busy?” I ask, taking a sip of my tea. Santos nods and brushes crumbs from the front of his shirt.

“Very busy. And you did not answer my call last weekend.” Santos answers immediately with mock anger. Last weekend was Valentine’s Day weekend. I was a bit preoccupied.

“I didn’t see you called until it was really late. I was busy. You didn’t answer my call earlier that day.”

“I was too busy screwing the brains outta Cillian.” He laughs and then groans. “No, actually, we went to the symphony and then had drinks and dinner downtown. So it was a busy night.” He smiles at me, and I can see how happy he is. I smile, feeling instantly at ease. At least one of our lives is making sense. He’s been dating Cillian rather seriously, and it seems to be going well. I feel a tug in my chest. I miss Santos dearly, since we don’t see each other nearly enough lately. The city seems empty without him.

“I’m glad.” I say softly, watching as the waiter comes back with Santos’ drink. Santos thanks him, and then orders a few more scones.

“Did you do anything? Make out with any randos?” He asks. I bite my lip, staring blankly out the window.

“Well. I don’t know how random he was.” I sigh, feeling a strange weight on my chest.

“What?!” He surges forward, bumping into the tiny table and nearly spilling our drinks.

“Down, boy.” I laugh. “It was Tom. He texted me. He was in just for that night.” I shift my weight, feeling uneasy again.

“Oh my god. It’s on. It’s back on,” Santos says, his voice breathless and at a whisper level. He sounds mystified as if I’ve just told him a legend of a mystical animal or a story about magic beans that he truly, whole heartedly believes.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I warn.

“So what happened?” Santos asks, leaning forward. “Details. What was he wearing? What were you wearing? Did you try that position I told you about? The happy philanthropist?” He asks, and I nearly spit out my tea.

“Santos.”I look away, shaking my head as I laugh. Santos frowns and throws his hands up.

“Gracie. Where did the nice man touch you?” He asks, saying each word with extra emphasis. I shoot him a look and then we both laugh. His terrible, wonderful sense of humor.

“He texted me when he got into the city. He came over, we had sex—on my kitchen counter, by the way. It was great, as usual. He found the invite to Richard’s wedding. That was a little awkward. Then…he left in the morning without saying goodbye. Not much to tell.” I don’t look at Santos for a moment, because I can already feel him staring at me, his jaw hanging slack, judging away.

“Wait…wait. So he came in out of nowhere, fucked you senseless and then left without a trace like some sort of hot British ghost in the night?”

“Uh…yes?” I blink. It’s all good and dandy except for the end. The last part. The part where Tom leaves without saying goodbye. That’s the part that I’m least fond of.

“Jesus, Gracie, _who are you?_ ” He laughs and I roll my eyes. I smile, but no laughter comes out. Santos immediately sense my mood, and he sobers up, his laughter dying off quickly.

I take a long drink of my tea, and let my eyes move to Santos. Of course I haven’t spoken to anyone about this since it happened. Who would I really talk to? Not Emily. It’s her brother. Santos has been busy as hell. Vera? My insane, flighty boss? No.

“Gracie.” Santos says gently. The waiter comes back with the scones, and Santos immediately puts one on my empty plate. “Eat this, and tell me what the hell is going on.” His voice is quieter, more subdued now. I stare at the pastry on my plate, and I suddenly feel awash with emotions. Terrible, strange, overwhelming things they may be.

“Grace.” He repeats. He sounds far away.

“Yeah.” I say quickly, pressing my lips together. My throat feels heavy, thick with whatever words are caught there. Santos sighs heavily.

“Gracie girl.” His voice is so kind, and I feel a hot tear slip from my eye, rolling rather dramatically down my cheek. I wipe at the tear roughly, shaking my head as I do, trying to clear my thoughts.

“Sorry. It’s okay. I’m fine. Really. I’m fine. I just…” I breathe out, groaning softly as I do. This is terrible. Emotions are terrible. Santos starts scooting his chair over toward me, banging it against the table and causing a bit of a ruckus.

“You really like him.” Santos states. I feel another tear slip out and I wipe it away before it can slide down my face.

“I don’t even know if it’s that, though.” I look at him, and I suddenly feel seventeen again. Santos talks me through my first break up. Which is made worse by the fact that my mother and I are getting kicked out of our fourth apartment in six months. We’re sitting in his bedroom at his father’s old house. His father’s house was a huge place, but it was cold and uncomfortable to be there. Still, it was a safe place. And Santos had let me stay with him for three weeks, until my mother had found a new apartment. God knew where she’d been staying.

He’s such a good friend, always has been. I break a piece of my scone off, and dunk it in his latte, which makes Santos sneer.

“Rude.” He whispers with a smile.

“Things just aren’t what I thought they would be,” I shrug. “Richard is getting married. I live in a studio apartment by myself…in a city that I have never really felt at home in. I’m sleeping with a man who may or may not know my last name. I just…”

“He knows your last name.” Santos interjects, trying to be soothing. I laugh.

“I know. It’s just that…I’m lonely. You’re in DC now. I have…no one.” Pity party for one. Right here. Santos makes a few high pitched noises, somewhere between a gasp and a whistle.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. But you really keep to yourself. I haven’t been that worried about you lately because I thought that’s what you liked. Gracie, if you’re lonely why don’t you try dating? Like…real dating. Or going out with coworkers? Hell, I’ll come into the city for a few weeks if it’ll get you laid.” Santos gives me a half smile.

“A real date would be nice. I don’t know if I’ve ever really been on one. But…I don’t know if I want to date. I just feel a little out of sorts lately... I think I’m just upset because I got the invitations to Richard’s wedding.” I stare out at the white street, the swirling flecks of snow that haven’t left since last week.

“That prick sent you an invite?!” Santos exclaims, his voice reaching shrill levels.

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“Garden City Park.” I mumble. Richard had always talked about wanting to get married there. Except, I thought that that scenario had involved me. Apparently not. Not at all.

“I’ll burn it to the ground.” He says instantly, which elicits a fast, abrupt laugh from me.

“Don’t. They have that orchid festival every year that’s really nice.”

“Fuck the orchids. Fuck Richard. Fuck that whorey whore. Who else can we fuck? You name it, we’ll fuck it!” Santos exclaims. A few people sitting close by look up from their coffees. Santos feels no remorse, as he shrugs. I laugh, feeling a bit lighter.

“Are we still talking about the same thing?”

“I’m not even sure anymore.” He chuckles.

“Thank you for coming to see me. I feel better already.”

“I’m glad.” Santos sighs loudly. “I wish I could be in New York with you still, Gracie. But it looks like DC is it for me right now.”

“I know. DC was a good move for you. You’ve got your fantastic job and Cillian.” I say.

“Has Vera talked anymore about opening a new gallery? In London? Or Paris? Maybe she’d let you tag along, even if just to help open it up. Shake this up a bit for you.” Santos asks.

“A little, but not much. It’s more been talks about collaborating with historical sites in London and Scotland. I sort of doubt it will happen, but who knows. She’s a bucket of surprises.” I think of my eclectic boss. The last three days I’ve worked, she spent most of the time in the back, practicing yoga headstands and chanting. It scared a few visitors, but I just told them she was practicing for a performance piece.

“Maybe you should get out of New York. Do we need to go on vacation somewhere? Have you ever been to Curacao?” Santos asks, though he knows the answer.

“I can’t go anywhere right now, Santos.”

“Do you want to talk about Tom?” Santos gives me a toothy grin.

“Not really.”

“But I do. So, tell me, why didn’t he say bye? I know you guys are just fuck buddies, but he’s sort of really shitty at the whole buddy part.” Santos grunts.

“You’re kind of right. It’s like…when I have his attention, it’s great. But as soon as…as soon as I’ve lost it, he basically is just a figment of my imagination. I haven’t quite figured him out.” I chew softly on my lower lip.

“I’ve figured him out, Gracie. He’s a relatively successful actor. He travels constantly. You’re someone who keeps their mouth shut. Who asks for nothing. And who is almost always readily available to him. He knows what he’s doing, love. The question is…do you know what you’re doing?”

When Santos is right, it’s the worst. He’s always right, too.

“At this point, Santos, if it’s not him…then it’s no one. I don’t know what is worse.”

“That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” He deadpans.

“It’s my life. I don’t date. I spend 99% of my free time, the little that I have, in my apartment. I still think about my cheating ex boyfriend on a semi-regular basis. I’m sleeping with a man who, on paper, is perfect. And in reality is sort of perfect as well. But…I can’t quite pin him down.”

“I love you, Gracie. You know that, right?”

“Yes. I love you too.”

“Alright, well, tell Tom to fuck off and find yourself a real boyfriend. Get over Richard the dick and move on. Easy as pie.” Santos says bluntly. I frown and purse my lips together. The truth hurts. Especially when it is honestly said with all the best intentions in the world, no matter how frank.

“I think I really care about Tom though.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Me too.”

“You should probably stop sleeping with him. You’re not his personal chew toy.” Santos warns gently.

“What?!” I laugh. “You’re right though. He’s the fling that went on for too long.”

“He’s bloody gorgeous. I understand why you do it.” Santos breaks into a terrible English accent, which makes me smile. We’re interrupted a moment later by my phone, which is buzzing and ringing on the café table. Santos looks at the screen, and immediately we both make little squeaky noises.

“Speak of the fucking devil.” Santos grins widely, and grabs my phone off the table before I can. He raises an eyebrow at me, silently asking for permission I blink rapidly a few times before shrugging. Santos swipes quickly to answer the call.

“Thomas. Darling.” Santos says, sitting back in his chair.

“Hello?” I can hear Tom clearly on the other end. “Hi. I’m looking for…Gracie”

“Yes, darling. This is Gracie’s secretary—“

“Santos?” Tom asks warily.

“I say ‘Gracie’s secretary’ and you immediately think it’s me?!” Santos laughs. I hear Tom laugh on the other end, and it goes straight to my gut.

“Great to hear from you, man. How are you?”

“Oh you know, same old same old. How are you? Super famous? Hey, do you think you can introduce me to Zac Efron?” Santos smiles.

“I wish I could, Santos.”

“Oh, it’s fine. He’s too young for me anyway.” They both laugh. “What can I do for you, Tom?” Santos asks after a beat.

“I was hoping to talk to Gracie. Is she around?” Tom asks. Santos looks at me and winks, and I instantly get a pit in the bottom of my stomach.

“Oh, our lovely little Gracie is on a date. She’s not here.” Santos quips. My eyes widen and I hold my breath.

“She’s on a date?” Tom asks, unsure. I roll my eyes. “She’s on a date, but you have her phone?” Good point, Tommy.

“She forgot it. I’m at her apartment, screening her calls.” Santos says quickly. “And yes, she’s on a date with some Brazilian. Name’s Guillherme or…Bernando or something else rather…foreign and exotic sounding. I think he plays soccer.” Santos scrunches his nose at me, and I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

“Oh. Right. Exotic.” Tom says rather flatly.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to chat with her. I saw her last week and well…I left her a note, and she never contacted me. I was a little worried she was upset with me.” Tom says. Santos looks at me, a surprised look on his face. I shrug, raising my hands. Note? There was no note. I shake my head.

“Well, you know Gracie. She’s always getting notes from…ah, men.” Santos says, then has to cover a laugh. “Listen, Tom, I’ll tell her you called, alright, old chap?” He switches into his terrible British accent.

“Okay, thanks Santos. Good talking to you.” Tom sounds confused, but I don’t really care. Santos is about to die from holding in his giggles, and I am desperately gathering up my things.

“Right. Talk soon, Tom.” Santos says and then hangs up. We look at each other, in a bit of a panic.

“NOTE?!” Santos yelps with excitement.

“I didn’t see a note.” I shake my head. Santos stands up, throwing on his coat, and grabbing the rest of his things.

“Let’s go.” He grabs my hand, and we rush from the café.

 

 ****

 

Twenty minutes later, after crawling around on the floor on hands and knees, and stripping my bed of sheets, we find Tom’s note. It was lodged nicely between my nightstand and my bed, having fallen there at some point.

“He always does this. He leaves notes! I never see them!”

“You do move a lot when you sleep. That’s terribly romantic though.” Santos scoots over toward me on the floor, as I lean back against my bed frame.

Tom wrote his note on an old receipt, in his rather scrawly heavy handwriting.

_You’re gorgeous when you sleep. I have to run to my meetings. If you want to get dinner before my flight leaves tonight, give me a call. If I don’t hear from you, I understand. Tom_

Santos breathes heavily and then throws himself back, sprawled across the floor. I laugh and then reread the note.

“He left you a note. He’s a regular Romeo. He left you a note, and you didn’t see it, and the poor man had to eat dinner all alone.”

“I ate dinner alone too. Standing up over my sink feeling sorry for myself.” I grin. Santos laughs and then grabs the note from me, reads it, then throws it in the air like a big piece of confetti.

“I think he loves you. I think he wants you to have his babies. You should probably call him back and tell him that it’s not going to work out with the Brazilian.” Santos sits up, smiling.


	21. June 2012: New

London is exactly as I thought it would be. A big, busy city. But it’s not like New York. The vibe is different. Maybe it’s because the buildings are older, full of history. Maybe it’s the accents. Everything seems faster and slower at the same time. Modern, but set firmly in routines and antiquities. I like it. A lot. I can feel the history, and my inner nerd is itching to explore the city.

This move isn’t permanent. But it’s exactly what I need. Vera suggested it to me a few months ago, and I was hesitant at first, but then Santos’ voice filtered into my head and I knew it was the right move. I was squandering away my days in New York. I spent time at the gallery and then went home to my apartment. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Moving would force me to branch out. And it had nothing to do with Richard’s wedding being in a month. No, not at all. I promise. It just so happened that I moved to London exactly one month before his stupid garden wedding, and something about that felt good. I didn’t need to be in the same city when that went down.

Vera asked me to commit six months, maybe a year in London. She wants to open a gallery, but hasn’t quite committed to where, when, why or how. So she figured expanding her contacts would be the best route first. I’ll be working with a gallery here called Penn’s, which Vera is interested in partnering with, and I’ll also be working with a few historical sites. I won’t glamorize it. The gallery work will be great, but it’s part time. The historical site is more of a glorified tour guide gig, but it will fill my time and get me the money I need to live in London. I know all about living in expensive cities on very little salary.

I thought my apartment in New York was small, but my apartment…or flat, in London is about half that. I sacrificed square footage for a good location. It’s a studio apartment, and this time it’s truly a studio. Enough room for a small couch, television, a table in the tiny kitchen and a bed in the corner. It came fully furnished, since I know I won’t be here long term. The décor is a bit…lacking, but it’s not terrible. Just bland. I can spruce it up a bit as I get settled. It’s not all that awe inspiring, but when I look out my window I think I can see the Thames and that’s good enough for me.

“Is it fantastic? When can I visit?” Santos asks, his voice loud and comforting as I sit down on the edge of my bed. My knees nearly hit the wall.

“It’s…small.” I flop back onto the bed.

“Send me some pictures. When do you start work?” He asks. He has been so busy on a project for his work, that we’ve barely talked twice in the last month. I turn my head. From this position I can see my entire apartment. I can see the front door. Good thing I’m not claustrophobic.

“Monday. I work at the gallery Monday through Wednesday. Thursday and Friday are spent at Cleredon House.” I reach over, pulling a huge binder of information out of my bag. My supervisor at Cleredon House, Mary Heath, sent me a ridiculous amount of information about the house. I called it a castle at first, but she had quickly corrected me. Sure, it has 65 rooms, and four turrets, but it’s not a castle. It’s just a modest, 17th century summer home.

“Maybe I’ll get married at Cleredon Castle. Do you think it’s too soon to be thinking about marriage?” Santos asks. He sounds like he’s kidding, but I know he’s not really.

“House, not Castle. And you’ve been dating Cillian six months. So…I don’t know.” I smile diplomatically. It doesn’t really matter what I say anyway. Santos does what he wants.

“Are you going to go out tonight? Wander around London town? See what you see? Bump into some celebrities?” Santos says in a sing songy voice. I chew on my bottom lip.

“I was going to stay in—“

“No, no.” Santos warns. “No, you aren’t. That was the whole point of moving to London. Meeting new people. Opening up Gracie Town, population one to a whole new world.” I laugh through my scowl.

“Santos, I like my life. I do. I like staying in.”

“God, you’re so boring. Why are we friends?” He teases.

“Shut up.”

“Have you called Tom? Remember him? British dreamboat who now lives like three minutes from you. Have you told him you’re there?” He asks. I hesitate.

“No. I haven’t.”

“Why? Because you’re so busy?”

“Jesus, Santos, give me a minute. I’ve literally been here all of like…six hours.”

“Call HIM.” Santos grounds out. I haven’t really spoken to Tom since Valentine’s Day. Four months. I saw his note, I felt my heart do this weird sort of spasm, and then I tossed the note into the trash. There was no point in calling him, or contacting him. What was I going to say? The opportunity had passed.

I’m not a mean person though. I texted him a few days later. I told him I wasn’t angry with him, but I simply hadn’t seen his note. That he should stop leaving bloody notes because I never see them. He had laughed, and then that had been that.

I texted him a week and a half ago telling him I was moving to London for work, and I’d heard nothing back from him.

So that was that. Easy peasy.

 

**** 

 

            “You know a lot about 17th century artwork.” Mary Heath smiles broadly at me over her heavy wood desk. We’re

sitting in a huge room in Cleredon. The ceilings are at least 20 feet high, if not more. I feel dwarfed in the ornate room.

            This is, what I’m hoping to be, the end of a very long, elaborate conversation. It started as a general first day meeting, but then it seems Mary has taken a liking to me. In the last forty five minutes, she’s managed to tell me about her four cats—Marty, Petunia, Aufidius and Darwin. She’s told me about how she loves her job as the historian and media director at Cleredon, but it’s been a struggle to get business back up to par since the renovations finished earlier in the year. Apparently there’s a lot of competition between castles, this side of the pond. She launches into a tirade about that, and so I’ve sat back, smiling and listening the whole time.

“It was part of my double major in undergrad, and I’ve considered getting my MFA in Art History.” I look down at the terrible little name tag I will have to wear. I’m grateful for the job, but I am not looking forward to it. It’s only a step up from retail, and talking to strangers all day has never been a strong suit of mine.

“I didn’t know you were so qualified. When Vera called me, she just said she her gallery assistant was looking for part time work. I expected someone…different.” Mary looks me over, and I squirm. I probably shouldn’t have worn quite possibly the most matronly thing I own. A dark tweed pencil skirt, some sort of frilly blouse that just screams grandma librarian, and I’ve pulled my hair back into a rather severe bun.

“I do have a lot of experience.” I smile quickly.

“I see.” Mary flips through my resume and then looks at me, smiling. She’s probably in her early forties. She’s pretty in a normal sort of way. Straight teeth, medium brown hair and an average figure. And I’m pretty sure at the moment, we’re wearing the same horn rimmed glasses.

I flash forward, and she is me. I am her. Give me a few more years and I’ll be Mary Heath. Working in a castle, wearing my horn rimmed glasses and talking to my cats at night. I don’t hate the idea. I like my quiet life, but it does strike a chord in me. I start to rise, clearing my throat as I do.

“I’ll do my best as a tour guide. I’m excited to start.” I grin, rising to stand as she does. Mary holds a hand up, stopping me as she tilts her head to the side.

“Well, I was thinking…since you’ve got such a fantastic art background—New York University, and working with Vera. Would you like to work directly with me instead? We’ve got a pretty steady amount of inquiries about the castle, as well as requests for information and private tours of the castle. I feel like it would be a better fit for you, rather than herding tourists around all day.” She smiles warmly at me, and I’ve suddenly never been happier that I identify so easily with a fellow introvert.

“Honestly, that sounds great.” I nod, feeling relief cascade over me. “Thank you.”

“Welcome aboard then, Grace.” She holds out her hand, and I take it happily.


	22. July 2012: Triumphant Return of Jamie

“What a day. I had fourteen requests for space in Cleredon, and three private tours.” Mary sits back and crosses one leg over the other. I nod, taking a sip of beer as we relax in a pub that’s just a few blocks from my apartment. It’s barely half past five, but we’ve been here for a good hour. We ditched the castle a bit early for some happy hour drinks.

Four weeks together, and Mary and I have become surprisingly close. She’s the closest thing I have to a friend in the city, and I do enjoy her company. We’re sort of good for each other. Two people who would rather stay home but if the mood strikes to be social, we seek out each other. So, the occasional drink after work has been occurring rather often.

“I know. I had two tours, and then I was on the phone with a museum for almost an hour. Restoration of the Beale portrait.” I roll my eyes and Mary laughs. We have a good work relationship, it’s a bit older sister, younger sister. She’s been pretty great about getting me acquainted to the city, and helping me get settled in.

“They are obsessed with that old slag.” Mary groans, referring to the rather priceless Mary Beale self portrait that resides in the upper royal bedroom of Cleredon House. It’s a pretty big deal. I laugh, as Mary—Mary Heath, that is, is already a bit tipsy on white wine.

“It’s a beautiful painting, Mary. And by _the_ first female English painter.” I say in my best British accent. Mary laughs and shrugs, waving her hands around as she does.

“It is a great portrait. And those wankers at the museum are just dying to get their grubby hands on it.” Mary grins and sits back. She’s not quite as uptight, prim and proper as I’d first thought. Get a few glasses of wine in her and she’s quite fun.

“You know, I thought Cleredon was going to be terrible. But, I quite like working there. And with you. Working at Penn, on the other hand.” I roll my eyes. The Penn Gallery is an insufferable place, to be honest. Uptight, hoity toity. I thought working at the gallery would be great—like back at the Hudson Gallery with Vera. It’s actually quite nerve wrecking. The owners are rude and ridiculous. The patrons are not much better. I’ve reported back to Vera on quite a few occasions that I don’t know if they are the gallery she wants to partner with.

“I’m glad you like it at Cleredon. Bobby was talking about you the other day.” Mary raises an eye brow at me. Bobby is the director at Cleredon. He’s also at least 65. What is it with me and stodgy old men?

“Tempting.” I groan, and Mary flies into a flurry of giggles. I laugh, taking a gulp of beer. It’s Friday, so we’ve both let a bit loose. Maybe a bit more than we should have.

“Are you dating anyone, Gracie? A pretty girl like you. You could have your pick of the litter.” Mary says, becoming serious all of the sudden. I scrunch up my nose.

“No. Dating’s never really been my thing.” I shrug. It hasn’t completely evaded my memory that Richard is getting married this weekend. This very weekend. Of course, I have put an entire ocean between us to keep from thinking about it. But it’s still on my mind. He’s getting married to the woman that was better than me. And he’s doing it in the place he once promised me was ours. I’m sad. I’m sad and pathetic.

“Mine either. Just a few good shags every now and again, to tide me over.” Mary laughs loudly, her face turning pink. I gape at her, and then push her jokingly in the arm.

“You harlot!” I laugh. She shrugs and then we clink our glasses together.

“Are you free next weekend? They’re playing some fantastic old movies at the Gate Picturehouse. We could go and do the lot of them.” Mary asks. It sounds fantastic. I grab my phone, nodding.

“As long as I don’t have anything with Penn’s.” I say, turning my phone on to check my calendar. Instead of checking my calendar, I’m distracted by a text message. I swipe open the notification.

 _How’s London treating you? Do you need a tour guide?_ It took him long enough. I’ve been in the city for four weeks, and this is the first I’ve heard of the bastard. Maybe it’s the couple of pints I’ve had, but hearing from Tom after such a long period of nothing, it makes me a little angry.

 _No I don’t need a tour guide. Thanks._ I reply. Take that! You silly man.

 _I can tour guide myself_! I text him again. Wait, that came out wrong, though it’s not all that untrue. I shouldn’t be texting him. I’m a bit too drunk at this point.

“Who are you texting?” Mary asks, raising an eyebrow at me. I shake my head.

“Just…a friend.” I sigh.

“Oh? Someone you’ve met since you’ve moved here? Do tell.” Mary turns to the bartender, and orders us another round.

“No. Well, he lives here but I’ve known him since before—when I lived in New York.” I say. It’s far too complicated to rehash our entire exhausting history. “He’s the brother of a friend from college.” I add quickly. Mary nods.

“But he’s English?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. So is he more Hugh Grant or Daniel Craig?” Mary grins and waits. This question stumps me a bit because I can’t say that Tom is really either.

“He’s…he’s…” I think of Tom as I first met him, with the curly blond hair and the tan skin. Then I think of him with his dark hair and his slight facial hair. I feel an involuntary clench between my thighs.

“Oh, he’s that sort.” Mary winks at me. I feel my phone vibrate next to me.

 _Well. Stop by some time. What are you doing tonight? Come see me._ His reply. Apparently he didn’t get the snarky tone I was trying to send in my last flippant message. I stare at his message for a moment.

“What’s he say?” Mary tries to see over my shoulder.

“He wants me to come over tonight.” I look at her, feeling my mouth get a bit dry.

“Oh! He wants you to come by, eh? Sexy times!” Mary giggles. “You need to go next door to that slutty little shop, and pick out something ridiculously see through and scandalous.” She is referring to the store a block away. It’s actually a quite nice lingerie store, but they do have a rather steamy collection. I’ve walked by many times, but haven’t stopped in yet.

“I can’t.” I shake my head.

“Do it, Gracie! Do it for the good of the people. I haven’t had sex in nearly eight months. DO IT.” Her eyes go wide, and I have to laugh.

“OK. But what do I do? Just show up at his door, naked?” I ask, looking down at my phone. Tom’s just sent me his address.

“I mean you could, but…no. Let’s think this through. How about wear something scandalous, underneath a trench coat. Like the high class prostitutes do in the movies!” Mary exclaims loudly, and I shush her quickly. I laugh, but the idea is sort of interesting.

“What if he’s not…looking for…that.” It suddenly dawns on me. Maybe Tom just wants a chat and a cuppa. Mary raises an eyebrow at me, and we both laugh.

“Silly girl. Get out of here, and give me all the details when I see you next.” Mary says, suddenly standing up. I stare at her for half a second, before I nod quickly, grab my things and then practically run out of the door.

 

 ****

 

 

I will find her. My inner Jamie. She’s been dormant for quite some time, but she’s still in there somewhere. After leaving the pub, I ran into the lingerie shop and bought the most ridiculous thing I could find. Ridiculous and expensive and if we’re going to be honest, rather sexy.

The girl at the shop that helped me, told me it was called the “Mercy” corset. I now know why. Because you can hardly breathe once you’re in it. It’s all black lace and boning on panels. The padded cups and the tight fit have my normally modest boobs pushed nearly up to my throat. I’ve paired it with this teeny tiny lace thong, and a garter belt with stockings that have that awesome seam in the back. I feel like this super slutty superhero. Super slutty superhero who can’t take a deep breath. I won’t be wearing it long, hopefully.

I rush back to my apartment, and it takes me about twenty minutes to get it all on. I’m sort of sweating and swearing by the time I’ve managed to get everything in place. A pair of black stilettos and my thigh length black trench coat, and it’s a good look.

I know I shouldn’t care. But it’s been nearly five months since I’ve had any sort of physical interaction with another human being. I’m not totally embarrassed to say the idea of being held, and touched and kissed, and especially by someone as adept at it as Tom, makes my heart race and my whole body alive with anticipation. I’m not perfect. I know it’s probably a dumb idea. But sometimes dumb ideas just need to be carried out. Right?

I spent a half a week’s check on this ridiculous get up, now I will put it to use. Jamie is out, and ready to play.

I call a cab to take me to Tom’s, which is on the other side of town and in a very nice area. Of course. It’s made up of mostly nice looking townhouses and apartments. When the cab stops outside an end unit, I stare at the front of it for a minute. It looks pretty unassuming. Gray brick. Old. Well kept. Nothing all that fantastic. It doesn’t scream “TOM LIVES HERE” on the front. I don’t know what I expected. I pay the cabbie quickly, and then shuffle out of the cab, trying my best not to flash anyone on the way out.

It’s half past eight now. Between my foray at the lingerie store, and my bumbling attempts to get into this get up (along with a shower in between all of that), it’s quite a bit later. Tom’s street is quiet, and I’m glad no one else is walking down the street. I don’t look all that obvious, but I do look a bit odd.

I take a deep breath, and climb up the stairs to his front door. There’s a light on in the front windows, but I can’t see in. I hesitate for a second before knocking quickly on his door. Jamie is ready to go.

Tom opens the door after a moment, and dear lord. Why do I always forget how handsome he is?

He smiles at me instantly, and I feel it in my gut. His hair is short, light brown and normal colored and sort of parted at the side like someone straight out of a vintage photograph. He’s got a bit of scruff on his face, and I instantly think about how that will feel against my skin. He’s wearing a button up dress shirt that perfectly matches his blue eyes. Handsome. Oooph, this was a good idea. This was a very good idea.

“Gracie.” He says, and opens his door wider. I want to make him moan my name. Oh! Hello! Jamie is coming through loud and clear. I smile at him and then walk into his house, trying my best to seem casual and completely at ease. Thought apparently I’m finding it hard to talk.

From what I can see at the entrance, it’s a nice house. Open, spacious. Sort of sparsely furnished, but not all that surprising for a guy that’s constantly working.

“It’s good to see you. Can I take your coat?” Tom asks, and I feel him walk up behind me. This is it. The big reveal. I jut out my hip, feeling my heels bite into the backs of my feet. I turn to face Tom, and we lock eyes. He’s looking at me strangely—a bit amused, perhaps a bit confused. I still haven’t said a word. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I am breathing a bit shallowly because of this damn corset.

I reach up and tug gently at my coat, opening it up and letting it slide down my bare shoulders.

The girl at the shop called this their “cheeky little number.” And it is. Rather cheeky. Literally. I’m very glad I did extra squats the other day.

Tom freezes and his eyes go wide (good), his expression unreadable for a second(not as good), then he opens his mouth (still not great) and his eyes slowly move from my face, down lower, longer on my legs and then back up to my face (not bad!).

“Grace—“ He sort of stutters, which makes both me and slutty Jamie excited but then concerned. He takes a step forward, reaching down for my coat which I’ve tossed onto the floor. It’s a bit drafty in here.

“Tommy, are you ready?” The voice that comes from the other room totally shocks me. It’s honestly like a slap in the face. The figure that follows it shocks me even more. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. Like I’ve had the air knocked out of me. Oh yes, of course. The last time I felt this way was when I walked in on Richard fucking Carmen on my bed. Ah. Priceless.

She’s tall, rather curvaceous and dark haired. The woman is gorgeous, really. And of course, appropriately dressed in jeans and a white peasant top (a rather jarring juxtaposition to my lacy, rather see through, skimpy little desperation outfit for one. She stops when she sees me and we all sort of freeze, not knowing what to do.

Tom has a girlfriend. And she’s here. And I’m here. And I’m wearing a thong.

“Oh. Shit,” I manage. “I’m sorry. Oh god, I’m so sorry.” I mumble quickly, and I catch Tom’s expression which…is painful really.   Then, before I can burst into embarrassed, totally mortified tears, I grab my coat from Tom’s hands, throw it over my shoulders and run out as fast as I my stilettos can carry me. Which isn’t very fast. It’s really not fast at all. It’s more of a slightly wobbly quick walk. Jamie has abandoned me, and all that’s left is Gracie. Sad, lonely little Gracie wearing sad, lonely lingerie. Bollocks.

London night air is surprisingly cold against my skin and I don’t have the adrenaline anymore to keep me warm. Now I just have embarrassment.

I also don’t have a car, so I am walking. But dear god, am I walking.

I hobble a few yards, hastily buttoning up my coat as I do and praying I can find a phone to call a cab. My outfit didn’t have the necessary pockets for my cell phone. I’m an idiot. The absolute biggest idiot in the world. No wonder he hasn’t been in touch with me lately. No wonder he didn’t care that I moved thousands of miles to his fucking city. He’s been too busy shagging his girlfriend. And then I show up at his house, throwing myself at him. I cringe as I hurry along. Embarrassment is quite possibly the hardest emotion to get rid of. It sticks to you for days, weeks, months, your entire life, refusing to let go.

“Gracie.” The voice is strong and a bit worried behind me. I don’t turn around, I don’t need to. I also feel very close to tears and I need to pull myself together, quickly.

“Grace, stop.” He demands, his voice closer. I shake my head and keep going, looking like some sort of strange lost call girl on a posh London street. This outfit wasn’t cheap though. At least I look an expensive hooker.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” I shout back, as if he’ll just stop and go away.

“For fucks sake, Gracie.” He’s right behind me now, and I wobble on the uneven sidewalk. Tom grabs my arm and turns me around.

His eyes are kind and maybe worried. He looks at me for a moment before looking away, shifting on his feet. He looks so down to earth and lovely and I…am wearing stilettos and a trench coat. And now I’m crying.

“I’m so sorry. I’m really fucking embarrassed. Unbelievably so.” I manage, looking away as I brush tears off my cheeks. Tom shifts and takes a deep breath.

“You’re bloody sexy as hell, Gracie.” He leans down, bringing himself to eye level with me. That is not what I expected. I blink and then cross my arms over my chest. I make eye contact, and he gives me this small, apologetic smile. It shoots straight through my chest, and makes it hard for me to breathe. Or maybe that’s the corset.

“I don’t know that your girlfriend would appreciate you saying that to me.”

“She probably wouldn’t if I had a girlfriend. But I don’t. That was my cousin, Darla. And while it was a rather awkward scene and I’d rather not experience it again, you still didn’t have to run off.”

“Oh believe me. I did.” I manage. I have a brief, lovely moment of relief, but it’s still quickly replaced by the embarrassment. Even if it’s not his girlfriend, I still can’t imagine much worse.

“Come back. Hang out for a bit. My mum is over too. She’ll want to see you.” He says gently. “Clothed, of course.” He adds with a laugh and I shoot him a look.

Ah, it does get worse. His _mum_ is there. Mrs. Hiddleston, the saint.

“Come say ‘Hi’. Please. I feel partially responsible for…this.” He gestures to my get up. “I should have been clear that I wasn’t alone.” He offers. I swallow, and take a deep breath, looking away.

“You should have, yes. And no, I can’t come back.” I manage.

“Gracie. My mum loves you. She didn’t even see. It’s cold and you can’t walk home like that.” He reaches forward, taking my hand in his, which is clenched at my side.

“I was going to get a cab.” I grind out. Tom pulls my arm into his side, and then yanks me toward him. I stumble forward, and sway into his chest. He’s warm and solid.

“I’ll get you a cab. Come back, say hi, change into something…comfortable. And then you can go home. I can’t have you leave like this. You’re too upset.” He tugs me into a hug, and I stand completely still and tense for a moment. Tom presses his hands across my lower back, and he reaches up, tugging gently on a strand of my hair that’s falling down my back in curly waves.

“You’re something else, Gracie girl. Come on, please.” He asks again. I nod slowly into his shoulder. I feel him let out a slow breath. Tom leans down, slowly, bringing a hand up under my chin. It’s my turn to hold my breath. He lifts my chin, bringing my face toward his. He leans down, and brushes his lips against mine. Just quickly, back and forth, his nose brushing against mine as well. He leans in, kissing me firmly, his mouth opening slightly. I respond, and as soon as I feel his tongue move out, brushing against my lips and then sweeping inside my mouth, I lean forward, sliding my hands up his chest. It’s a good kiss. It’s a great kiss. Fucking great.

He kisses me again, swiftly, then we break apart. We both wait, our foreheads pressed together. Tom reaches forward, tugging gently at the neckline of my coat, as if trying to sneak a peek. I laugh, shaking my head and swatting him away.

“That is quite an outfit.” He breathes out, looking at me like he wants to take a bite.

“Hands off, Hiddleston.” I warn softly. He smiles, and then takes my hand, tugging me back toward his house.


	23. July 2012: Corsets and Family Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've been sick for a straight month at this point, so thanks for your patience on the slow pace of my updates. And thanks for all the support and amazing feedback. You guys make my day. Also, if you're on facebook, add me! https://www.facebook.com/Circa1927

We walk quietly back to Tom’s house, my heart pounding the entire way there. He lets me back inside, and I’m thankful that his mother and cousin aren’t just standing there waiting when we walk in.

“Tom? Did I hear Gracie?” Mrs. Hiddleston calls from out of sight. I spoke too soon. I freeze, my hands bunched at my side. Tom gives me a look, and holds up a hand as if to relax me. He turns then, and walks out of the entryway, disappearing through a doorway and around a corner. I stand, frozen by the front door.

It gives me a chance to look around a bit. Off white walls. High ceilings. There’s not much to see from the entryway.

“Yeah, mum. She just stopped by on her way home from a party. She’s a little embarrassed because she spilled something on her dress at the party. I’m just going to take her upstairs and find her something to wear. I’ll be right back.” I can hear Tom’s muffled voice from the other room, and my cheeks flush when I hear his excuse for me.

“Oh, that poor girl. Okay, bring her in here when she’s changed. She can help with dessert.” Mrs. Hiddleston says, her voice warm and concerned. A second later, Tom comes back, around the corner, his eyes bright. He gives me a smile and then gestures to a wide, wrought iron and wood staircase on the other side of the entryway.

“Bedroom’s upstairs.” He says softly, raising an eyebrow. I can’t help but pause at his choice of words. He smiles and then leads the way up the stairs. I follow him quickly, praying that I can get up the stairs to the safety of his room before his Mom comes around.

He leads me down a short hallway and then we are walking through a loft area that overlooks the lower level of the house. The whole house has light wood floors, and the lower level has a big wooden dining table. The ceilings are high, and I can see the large wooden beams above. Tom leads the way, across the loft area and then into the bedroom at the very end. We pass by a bathroom, and what looks like two other bedrooms before getting to his. I follow him in, and he softly shuts the door behind us.

“Your cousin is going to think…a lot of things about me.” I say, swallowing hard as I look around his room. It isn’t all that much to look at. It’s comfortable, but sparse. He’s got a queen sized bed, with nice looking gray bedding. There’s a dresser, and a chair in the corner. Not much else. I’m not totally convinced that this is his house. It seems as if he’s barely spent any time here.

“You’re probably right.” He clears his throat, looking at me as he opens a drawer of his dresser, pulling out clothes. “But Darla once got totally pissed at one of our other cousins’ weddings, and she flashed the DJ because she thought he was good looking. So, I don’t really think you have much to worry about.” He gives me a little smile, and I can’t help but grin and shake my head.

“This outfit was a terrible idea. It sounded much better when I was back at the pub.” I mutter under my breath. Tom looks at me amused and walks over, handing me what looks like a tshirt and sweats. I seem to be accruing a collection of his clothes.

“Are you drunk, darling?” He laughs, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and smiles, watching me.

“No, not drunk. But tipsy. Or I was. I’m perfectly sober now. Showing your bare ass to strangers will do that to a person.” I set his clothes down on the bed, and chew nervously on my lip.

“Right.” He nods, still smiling. “I’m going to…give you a minute. Come downstairs when you’re changed?” He asks, standing up. I nod, my hands at the ties on my coat.

“Tom.” I wait, and he turns around, his hand at the door.

“Hm?”

“Can you help me…get out of this? It took me twenty minutes to get in it while I was alone. I’m pretty sure it was designed to have a second person help you out of it.” I say, feeling my face flush as I say it. It’s true though. There’s about a thousand ties and ribbons in the back, which was nearly impossible to do while I was alone. Tom pauses for a second, but then nods and walks back over.

We stand facing each other for a moment, my hands still on the ties of my coat.

“Right.” He looks down at me, not smiling but an amused smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. I blink. Tom reaches up, takes me by the shoulders and gently turns me, moving me like some sort of doll. I can’t help but laugh, feeling strangely nervous and suddenly bashful. I take a deep breath as I turn my back to him and then quickly undo my jacket. It slowly slides off my shoulders, and then down, falling softly onto the floor. The room suddenly seems small, and still and way too quiet. We’re both quiet for a moment before I force myself to speak.

“There’s these…ah, clasp things at the top, and then you’ve got to, eh, undo the ties.” I say, reaching back. Tom makes a noise, but doesn’t really say anything. I feel his hands move to the top of the corset, and a second later, the click of the snaps at the top.

“This is quite an outfit.” Tom says softly. I smile and shrug.

“Yup.” I say quickly, making a soft popping noise as I enunciate the end of the word. Tom laughs, and I feel his hands loosen the corset all the way. I can feel it loosen around my middle, and open in the back. Ah, unhindered breathing. You never know how good it is until you’ve been stuffed into a corset for an hour.

“Here you go.” He clears his throat. “Can you breathe alright?” He asks with a chuckle.

I groan, reaching up and holding the corset to my chest so it doesn’t fall off completely. I move my shoulders happily, “I can now.” I smile.

“You’ve got marks on your skin from this thing.”He says, his voice low and right by my ear.

“Mmm.” I nod and then a second later, I feel him touch me, just between my shoulder blades. I tense for a moment, surprised at the contact. I pull my lower lip into my mouth, pressing down hard with my front teeth as I do. Tom moves his hand—the back of his knuckles, slowly down my spine. His touch is feather light, and I stare straightforward, feeling almost intoxicated by it.

“Thank you.” My breath is fast and shallow, and I clutch the corset to my front.

“I’ll see you downstairs.” His says quickly, and then a moment later, he’s gone.

 ****

 

It takes me a few minutes to recover. I stand in the same exact spot for at least three minutes, my eyes closed, my thoughts focused on the way his knuckles felt against my skin. Smooth, hard, gentle. I’m brought back to earth by the sound of laughter coming from the lower level of the house.

I feel a little lightheaded, but I’m not totally sure what the culprit is. The last time I ate was around lunchtime. Mary had bought sandwiches, and crisps from the café in Cleredon (yes, Cleredon has it’s own café! It’s not in the house though, it’s in one of the out buildings designed for tourists). And then I had quite a few pints with her at the bar. And then Tom touched me.

So who really knows.

I turn and toss my professional slut outfit to the side. I pull off the garter belt and stockings, throwing them all into a rumpled, expensive heap in the corner. Sad, really. They should have been tossed aside for much sexier, thrilling reasons. I quickly change into the clothes which Tom has given me. A comfy pair of gray sweats and a tshirt, complete with a zip up hoodie. It’s all a bit too big, but I make do. I look about as sexy as a awkward middleschooler in gym class, but I suppose this is my life, so who are we kidding.

Somewhere, deep inside, I stuff Jamie far, far away, and I find the last bit of courage that I can muster tonight. I leave his bedroom, and make my way downstairs.

It hits me quickly. The smell of food. Lovely, delicious, wonderful food. My stomach rumbles in response, and I follow my nose. Under the loft, there is a cozy sitting area with couches and a fireplace. Through a door to the right, I can hear laughter and see a warm, inviting light. The kitchen.

I make my way there, and then pause at the doorway, taking in the scene.

Tom has on an apron, and he’s standing in front of the stove with a wooden spoon in his hand. He’s half turned away from me, and he’s gesturing wildly with his free hand as he speaks to his mother and cousin. Mrs. Hiddleston is sitting at a very tiny little island in the middle of the small kitchen, and it looks like she is crumbling meringues into a bowl. Darla is leaning against the counter, laughing at whatever Tom is saying.

As if on cue, Tom turns and sees me, stopping midsentence. His smile widens, and then he turns quickly, dips his spoon into the large pot to his side and then holds it out to me.

“Taste this. Tell me what you think.” He gestures at me to come into the kitchen. I smile at everyone, and take the few steps in to meet him. He leans forward, the spoon only a few inches from my face. I look at it. Some sort of tomato sauce. Tom holds up a hand, stopping me. He leans forward, blows gently on the end of the spoon and then holds it back out, smiling.

“Careful. It’s hot.” He warns. I nod, and then lean forward, opening my mouth slightly. I take a taste, and the rich, fragrant tomato sauce is absolutely delicious. I grin and nod.

“That’s amazing.” I turn then, smiling at Mrs. Hiddleston. “Did you make this?” I ask. She shakes her head, then stands up to walk over. She immediately envelopes me in a huge hug as she nears, and I hug her back, happy to see her. Our visits are usually only once a year at Christmas time. Although I most definitely hadn’t expected to see her tonight, it’s most welcome.

“Lovely girl, it’s so nice to see you, Gracie.” She says happily into my ear. I smile and squeeze her tight, then let go.

“You too.”

“And no, I had nothing to do with that sauce. I’m afraid I can’t take credit. But I did make him, so I suppose I had something to do with it.” She grins, her eyes sparkling as she sits back down to finish crumbling the cookies. I raise an eyebrow, looking back at Tom, who hands me a full wine glass.

“You made that?” I ask. He nods.

“Indeed.”

“Wow, I did not…picture you as a cook.” I smile, taking a sip.

“I’m pretty terrific.” Tom laughs loudly, and puts his hands on his narrow hips. I grin and then scrunch my nose at him. “Where are my manners?” He says quickly, rushing forward. “Gracie, this is my cousin, Darla. Darla’s visiting mum this weekend, and I invited them over for my famous spaghetti Bolognese. Darla—this is my friend Gracie Bell.” Tom finally introduces me to his cousin, who has so far kept rather quiet in the corner.

I turn, a bit frightened to face his cousin. She’s seen my ass and all. I feel like I should be sending her a gift basket, or at least a card. She’s smiling though, and it seems quite genuine.

“Hi Gracie. Nice to meet you.” She leans forward, holding out a hand. I shake it, feeling my nerves dissipate a bite.

“Nice to meet you, Darla.” I smile at her, and then mouth ‘I am so sorry’ to her. She smiles and shrugs, waving a hand.

“I’m glad to see that Tom has such a good close friend.” She winks at me and I feel my face nearly burst into flames. I can’t look at Tom or his mother, so I focus on my wine for a minute.

“Gracie, are you hungry? You’ll stay for dinner?” Mrs. Hiddleston asks. “Tom’s made his spaghetti, and garlic bread. And then there’s the Eton mess.” She gestures to the bowl she’s been slowly filling.

“Oh, um.” I look around, realizing what I’ve just been roped into. Tom is grabbing plates from a cabinet, but he’s not saying anything.

“Of course she’ll stay.” Darla answers for me with a smile.

“Okay, sure. Thank you.” I nod, as my stomach rumbles in reply.

 ****

 

Forty five minutes later, after what is quite possibly the best pasta I’ve ever had, and at least two glasses of red wine, we are all sitting around Tom’s dining table, groaning happily about our full bellies. Tom is still eating bread, and Darla is refilling all of our glasses. We’ve gone through at least two bottles. Mrs. H may be a little drunk. I don’t blame her, because we are in the same boat. It’s like Christmas all over again.

“You’ll be here how long, darling? I think it’s lovely you’ve taken such a brave step!” Mrs. Hiddleston beams at me in the way only she can. I confess, I never had a mother who was proud of me for, well, anything and speaking with her now, it makes me even more aware of what I missed in my adolescence. And my adulthood.

“At least six months, maybe longer. It depends on Vera’s big plan.” I sigh. I can feel Tom’s eyes on me, though he hasn’t said anything.

“So gallery work is where you’d like to stay?” Darla asks. She’s a history professor at a small university in Scotland. Over dinner, she told me a bit about her education, and how hard she’s worked the past few years to get where she is. Tenured at a university. She’s not much older than me, and it’s pretty impressive.

“That’s the funny part. I thought it was, but lately I’ve really loved working at Cleredon House. I work with a really hilarious, sweet woman. And she’s sort of helped me see how great these historical sites can be. They’re a work of art in and of themselves.” I nod. Darla raises her glass to me.

“Agreed. Well, you should just let things take you where they will. You’ll be surprised.” She offers. I grin and nod. Tom’s still quiet, just watching us talk. He seems perfectly content listening, and not saying much. Which is sort of strange for him. I glance over at him, and he’s staring right at me. I give him a tiny shrug and he just blinks at me.

“What about Santos?” Mrs. Hiddleston asks, her question breaking my focus on Tom.

“He’s still in DC. He loves it there.” I smile thinking of him.

“You two are inseparable. Won’t you miss him?” She asks with a grin.

“I do miss him. But he’ll come visit. He always needs an excuse to travel. Plus, he’s been dating someone pretty seriously so, he’s been preoccupied.” I look over at Tom, who is still staring. I narrow my eyes at him, and then give him a little sneer. This seems to pop him from his trance and he barely moves his hand over the table, flicking a breadcrumb at me when his mother isn’t looking.

“Oh that’s lovely. So good to hear.” Mrs. Hiddleston claps her hands together.

“What about you two? Do you see each other often?” Darla asks, gesturing to me and Tom. Tom looks up.

“No, we don’t.”

“We do, yeah.”

We both answer at the same time, and then it’s quiet for a second. Mrs. Hiddleston gets a tiny smile at the corner of her lips, and I press mine together and glare at Tom. He frowns at me and then looks at his cousin.

“We…do see each other when we can. But it’s not that often.” Tom says slowly, backtracking over his words.

“I didn’t even know you two were close.” Mrs. Hiddleston reaches over, patting Tom’s arm. I hold my breath. Tom and I both know it’s best if we don’t let on what we’ve been really doing. Mrs. H wants her only son to be married, and settled down with a wifey and hoards of children. She wants to be a grandmother. She doesn’t want to hear that her only son has just been casually fluffing about with her daughter’s friend, and will probably fluff about with her later that night. If things go accordingly. And no grandchildren. We take careful pains so that is not an option.

“Gracie is a gem.” Tom looks at me and winks. I roll my eyes at him, and then finish the rest of my wine.

We finish dinner, and then move onto dessert. Mrs. Hiddleston’s Eton mess is delicious, which was to be expected. We talk about Darla’s work at the university—some research she’s been immersing herself in for the past few months. Tom talks a tiny bit about some of his work, but he doesn’t say much. Mrs. Hiddleston laughs, and enjoys herself, and drinks more wine than I thought possible. I sit back, soaking it all in. The feeling of family, and being around people who truly care about each other. It’s such a comfortable, intimate atmosphere, and it seems so foreign yet so utterly delicious to me.

Tom refuses to let any of us help with dishes, so we clean up a bit and then pile everything into his tiny sink. It’s nearly half past eleven by the time we’ve finished, and Mrs. H is yawning and obviously a bit tipsy.

“I’m going to take Dotty home. She’s about to pass out, the lush.” Darla rolls her eyes, but smiles warmly. Tom hugs his cousin, thanking her as we all walk toward the front door.

“Ring me when you get home? I want to know you make it safe.” He asks his mother and cousin. Darla is staying with Mrs. Hiddleston for her short break.

“Yes, yes, son.” Mrs. Hiddleston hugs Tom, and then turns to me.

“Have a good night. It was so nice to see you. And it’s not even Christmas!” I grin. She laughs and yanks me into a hug.

“What a lovely little surprise. We’ll tell Tom to keep you around. Or we’ll keep you and get rid of Tom.” She laughs at her own joke, and Tom groans and then laughs along as well.

“See you soon. Thanks for coming over.” He waves as his mother and cousin make their way out. Tom hasn’t quite asked me to stay longer, so I’m in a strange limbo. He turns though, as he closes his front door, and gestures to my wine glass.

“How about some more of that?” He asks, and then starts walking back toward the kitchen. I suppose he would like me to stay. I watch him as he walks away, in his dark slacks and his shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms. His tall, lean figure moving confidently through his house.

“Yes, please.” I say, following him. We go back into his small kitchen, and Tom grabs his glass and takes mine from my hand, setting them on the counter. He uncorks a bottle of wine, and then pours us each a healthy glug. He holds my glass out to me, but when I go to take it, he pulls it back, close to his chest.

I step forward, smiling, kicking him gently in the shin with my bare foot. He lets me take the glass from him, but then he grabs my hips, and pulls me against him, leaning down and pressing his forehead against mine.

“Stay over tonight.” He says, more of a statement then a question. I look up at him, into his clear, ocean blue eyes. I reach up, running my fingertips over the strong angles of his jaw. I see and feel his jaw muscles clench slightly as I do, and then I pull back slightly so I can see his mouth. That lovely mouth.

“Okay.” I nod. “But what’s in it for me?” I add with a half smile, joking. Tom chuckles softly, and then pushes his hips against mine. He leans in, kissing me quickly, a bit sloppily from all the wine but it’s nice. It’s very nice. Everything is suddenly wet, and slow and rubbing achingly slow against me.

“You can have whatever you want. Everything. This.” He says quickly inbetween kisses, his hands coming to my waist and then pushing under the hem of my shirt. His breath is fast, and short and it seems he’s already ready to go. Oh.

“I can’t stop thinking about you in that ridiculous, sexy little get up. And then I see you in my clothes. And I don’t know what’s damn sexier. And my bloody mum has been here all night, and all I could do was think about…fucking…taking you on the dining room table.” He says this all almost breathlessly, and when I try to reply I’m not sure if I can talk at first.

“Good enough.” I manage, yanking him toward me.


	24. July 2012: Lonely

Tom stands up, completely naked, and walks from the room, disappearing into the kitchen. I watch him leave, admiring the long lines of his back and torso, and his strong lean legs. Runner’s legs. Oh, and his ridiculously nice ass. Really. Nice ass. I look around, sitting up slightly, as I’m lying sprawled on his living room carpet. Not totally ladylike, but he’s the one that did this to me. My legs are absolute jelly.

“Do you want more wine?” Tom calls out from the other room. I groan, my head already feeling fuzzy from the wine at dinner.

“No, god no.” I mutter. “Water, please?” I hear him chuckle, and then a moment later he walks back out. Oh, hello. That’s quite a sight—the front side. Even better than the backside, if I do say so myself. He leans down and hands me a cold glass of water, which I take quickly and take a sip. I’m a little parched.

Like I’ve been running a marathon. Ahem.

Tom picks up his boxers from the floor and pulls them on, then joins me on the floor. I’m suddenly more than aware that I’m still completely nude. He doesn’t seem to mind though, he immediately puts a big hand on my thigh, running it absently up and down my skin.

“That was fun.” I say lamely, handing Tom my glass to hold. He leans back on his arms and gives me a strange look.

“Are you alright?” He says slowly. I nod, and then reach over him, my boobs practically in his face, so I can grab my (his) shirt from earlier. Tom grabs me suddenly around the waist and pulls me to him, smashing my breasts in his face. I laugh and wrap my arms around his head, pulling him against me even more. I’m not sure if he can breath, but he’s not protesting.

“Your breasts are fantastic.” He mumbles, distractedly.

“Thank you.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but smile. “And I’m fine.” I push him away with a laugh and then pull the tshirt on. Tom releases me and makes another face.

“Really? Because you just said ‘That was fun’ in the most unenthusiastic voice I’ve ever heard.” He sits up, leaning against the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him. I sit up as well, pulling my hair to the side.

“I’m just a little worried.” I clench my teeth together, looking over at Tom who has a concerned look on his face. Brow furrowed, jaw set. Handsome as hell.

“About?”

“Your mom.”

“My…mother.” Tom takes a deep breath and brings a hand up to his jaw, rubbing it back and forth over his chin. He doesn’t look very pleased with my answer. Not at all. I have fantastic pillow talk, I know.

“I don’t want her to get the wrong idea about us. I really like your mother. Your whole family. I don’t want her to be disappointed. I just…” I chew on my lip and then pull my knees up to my chest, yanking Tom’s shirt over them like a big tent. Tom nods, and reaches over, running a hand over my knee through the shirt. He pats my knee and then reaches up and runs his finger down the slope of my nose.

“Don’t worry about her, Gracie. The honest truth is my mum loves you. She thinks you and Santos are the best thing since hot buttered toast. Nothing will change that.” He squeezes my knee and then hands me back my glass, which I take and take a sip.

“If you say so, Thomas.” I mumble jokingly. Tom cringes and runs a hand over his face, then through his rather messy hair. I did that. I take full credit.

“Don’t call me that.” He laughs.

“What? Thomas? It’s your name. Or would you rather I called you Will?” I purse my lips at him and he lets out a loud, happy laugh.

“Only if I get to call you Jamie.” He tilts his head and I shake mine.

“So why not Thomas?”

“Because my father calls me Thomas. My father and only my father.” Tom licks his lips and frowns. I blink, waiting. No one ever talks about Tom’s dad. I’ve never met him, and I’ve never even heard Emily speak about him.

“You never talk about him.” I wait. Tom looks at me out of the corner of his eye, and then nods slowly.

“Exactly.” He says stubbornly. Perhaps this conversation isn’t going anywhere.

“You don’t shut up, do you? Just ‘Tom Tom Tom’, all day long.” I joke, elbowing him in the side. He scoffs and laughs softly.

“Right, well there’s not much to say. Anyway, you don’t talk about your dad either. Or your mum.” He shoots back at me. I smile and then shrug, looking down and finding sudden interest in the plush carpet. I dig my fingertips into it, leaving little divots.

“Well, you know.”

“I really don’t though.”

“They’re not around. That’s really all you need to know. It’s about as much as I know.” I say with a quick, heartless laugh. Tom nods and looks down, his fingers mimicking mine. Digging little carpet holes, and then smoothing them over, then repeating.

“Well, my dad was around. He was around a lot. We just never quite saw eye to eye.” Tom breathes deep and then clears his throat as he sits up straighter. “He was a shit to my mum sometimes too. Nothing terrible but, she deserves the world. And he was gone a lot. Work.” Tom suddenly seems uncomfortable, as if he can’t find a good way to sit. He moves about for a few seconds, before standing up quickly and walking over to one of the large wall to wall bookcases he has on the far wall. He opens something up, riffles through a few things on the shelves, and then a moment later music comes crackling to life. A record player.

Tom stands for a moment, in just his boxers, swaying slightly to the music, his eyelids lowered. He opens his eyes, dark blue with some sort of emotions I can’t quite put a finger on. He watches me, then starts softly singing along to the music.

“All of me, why not take all of me? Can’t you see? I’m no good without you.” His voice is low, warm and just a tad bit silly. I smile, watching him. He holds out a hand, silently asking me to join him. I laugh and then shake my head.

“You’re insane.” I say softly, but I’m already moving to get up. He grabs my hand, then pulls me into his embrace. One of his deft hands goes to the small of my back, the other takes my hand, leading me gently as we move.

“Your goodbye left me with eyes that cry. How can I go on dear, without you? You took the part that once was my heart. So why not take all of me?” He leans down, singing ever so softly into my ear as we move slowly around his living room. He’s shirtless, and I’m wearing just a shirt, but it’s sort of…perfect. I can’t help but smile, and then let him tuck me into that lovely spot next to his chest, moving along to the music.

“I love this song.” I lean my forehead against his shoulder, then gasp softly as Tom pulls back and leads me into a spin. I laugh, twirling under his hand, and then come back to settle against him. We keep moving, slowly and then a bit faster with the music. Our bare feet noiselessly moving over the carpet, the house quiet except for the perfect, exquisite voice of Billie Holiday. We slow down as the song nears the end, but we don’t completely stop moving. We stay together, swaying slowly, as the music starts to fade, the faint popping and scratching of the record filling the room.

“Are you dating anyone?” His voice is right near my ear.

“No.” I swallow.

“Why not?” He pulls back, just so we can see each other’s faces. We stay as if we are still slow dancing. I’m not sure if he’s baiting me—just trying to play with me, or if he’s sincere. Another song starts up on the record player, though neither of us start moving any faster.

“Because. I just…I’m not.” I say lamely, somewhat surprised by his question. The air between us is still, quiet.

“You don’t get lonely?” He asks.

“Sometimes.” I say honestly. “Maybe I’m just used to it. Being alone is better than having people let you down.” I stop moving, and Tom does as well. He doesn’t let go of me though.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” He breathes.

“Don’t you get lonely?” I ask suddenly. Tom keeps his eyes on me. I can feel him breathing, see the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“Sure.” He says softly with a slow nod of his head.

“So what do you do? When you feel lonely?” I go to let go of his hand and take a step back, but Tom locks his arm around my waist and holds tight to my hand. Billie Holiday keeps singing, oblivious to the way my heart has nearly seized up in my chest. Tom is just a friend.

“I run. I work. I work more. I call you.” He says. Tom quickly moves then, dipping me back effortlessly. I let him, and we move slowly as he brings me back upright. He pulls me back into his chest, and then we keep dancing, more in time with the music.

It would be hard to describe how I am feeling. My heart is pounding in my throat. I stay with him though, my eyes locked with his deep blue ones. He spins me around again, then stops me halfway around, pulling my back to his chest, both our arms wrapped around me. We sway for a moment and Tom leans into me, then seems to bury his face into my neck and hair. He does this for only a split second before twirling me back out, then we keep moving through his living room and then eventually out into the wide open space away from the loft.

We dance through his first floor, not speaking, just listening. It’s not at all how I expected this night to go.

“I should go soon. I can’t stay.” I say to him after some time. He looks down at me, his mouth in a stern line. He’s thinking, I can tell, but he just nods and we keep dancing.

“If that’s what you want. I’ll drive you home.”

“I can get a cab.” I say as we move around his dining room table.

“I’ll drive you.” He says, and that is that.

We dance for a few more minutes, and then… then I gather up my things. I put on his sweats, gather up the lingerie that was long abandoned in his bedroom. Tom changes into jeans and a hoodie, his hair messy and his eyes a bit bleary. It’s late. We’re both tired. He’d let me stay if I asked. He’d let me stay even if I didn’t ask.

But for some reason, I know I can’t. Tom grabs his keys from a hook by the door, and holds the door open for me.

Less than twenty minutes later, I’m home, in my one room empty, cold apartment. I climb into bed, wearing clothes that practically smother me with the smell of him. I pull his shirt up to my face, breathing him in for a moment, before I strip, quickly, throwing them to the other side of the room.

None of that. We’ll be having none of that.

I dress quickly in my own pajamas. They smell normal. They smell like detergent and…nothing. Absolutely nothing.

 

 ****

 

Mary is waiting for me on Thursday morning. As soon as I walk into the beautiful, old sitting room we use as an office, she is there, waiting for me. She thrusts a cup of tea into my hand, and then looks at me with big gleaming eyes.

“And? How did it go?” She asks. She’s been texting me all week, but I kept putting her off.

I smile and walk over to my desk, setting down the mug and my things.

“Can I get a minute? I just walked in.” I say jokingly. My huge, ornate desk is not an antique, but it was created to match the rest of the furniture in the house. Everything as close to authentic as possible. Even though tourists don’t come through our office, it seemed important not to have a modular desk from IKEA perched in the middle of a 17th century architectural masterpiece. We occasionally have clients in, and it’s nice for everything to look like it belongs.

“You’ve had DAYS. Now tell me.” Mary leans against my desk and blinks, waiting like a patient owl.

“I already got the third degree from Santos.” I sigh. Third degree burns, more like it. He practically screamed when I told him about Darla being there, and then made me tell the story two more times so he could laugh a little more obnoxiously each time. Then, I’m pretty sure he popped an ovary when I told him about dancing to Billie Holiday. He told me I should marry Tom, and I told him that I would as long as it meant we still were just friends with benefits.

“You should have done a conference call, because you’re gonna have to tell me all the lurid details.” Mary clicks her tongue, shaking her head. She’s wearing some sort of frilly blouse, with enough ruffles on her throat and chest, that she sort of looks like some sort of puffy bird. It works for her though.

“What do you want to hear? The part about how I stripped nearly naked in front of Tom, and…his cousin who was visiting? Oh, and his mother was there too, but not in the room, thank god. Or the fact that I immediately changed into sweatpants and ate pasta after that?” I smile at Mary, who looks horrified, but then thoughtful.

“Sweatpants and pasta sound sort of nice, actually.” She shrugs. “I’m on this low carb diet—“ I laugh, and then sigh as I launch into my story about the night. Mary listens intently, as she always does. She gasps at certain points, shrieks at others and goes all gooey eyed at others. I leave out a few things though. For my own sake. She’s lovely, but she’s no Santos.

“So lingerie just really isn’t my thing. Lesson learned.” I giggle.

“Maybe not. But it did get the job done, right?” She lifts her hands up, looking amused. I rub my hands over my cheeks, feeling them burn a bit pink.

“It did.”

“So what’s next? What’s next?!” Mary exclaims, standing up straight and then reaching over my desk, shaking my shoulders. I laugh, grabbing her hands and steadying us both.

“I don’t know. I’ll see him soon, I’m sure. We always do end up bumping into each other.”

“A date then?” She looks so hopeful, and I hate to crush her tender little soul.

“Oh…no. No.” I shake my head, and then stand up, walking over to the other side of the room, pretending to busy myself with a stack of paperwork. Mary watches me from where she’s sitting, but she doesn’t move.

“Why not?” She asks, honestly confused and concerned.

“Because Tom and I aren’t dating. We have an arrangement. That’s it. That’s all. It’s simple.” I shuffle through some papers, and then busy myself arranging them in alphabetical order, though it’s completely unnecessary.

“What are you doing?” Mary asks softly.

“What? Mary? What?!” I nearly explode, throwing my hands up but then I go back to frantically rearranging the papers. “It’s okay, really! Believe me! I know it’s not necessarily something a lot of people do, but it works for us. It’s just sex. That’s all—“

“No, I meant…what are you doing with those papers?” Mary raises an eyebrow at me, and I groan, slumping forward slightly.

“Putting them in alphabetical order.”

“I’d say you need to get laid, but apparently that’s not it.” Mary jokes, and I look at her with narrowed eyes, shooting her a glance that I hope will kill her, or at least…give her terrible heartburn for an hour or two.

“No, it’s not.” I say with a quick laugh. Mary grins.

“I know what you need. You need to go on a date. A real date. None of this newfangled ‘hooking up’. I know just the guy, too. I’ll set you up.” Mary has a look in her eye, and I immediately know it’s a terrible idea. I shake my head.

“No. No, please.”

“Why not? When’s the last time you went out with someone?” She asks. I hesitate and then roll my eyes.

“Richard.” I bite out. She raises an eyebrow, silently judging me.

“A year and a half. More than that.” She does not sound amused.

“I’ve been busy.” I say, defeated.

“Come on. I’ll set you up. You need a change of pace. Let me do this, Gracie. Give it a chance.” Mary looks at me, her head tilted to the side. I sigh, pressing a finger to the bridge of my nose.

“I don’t need to date.”

“Why? Everyone needs to date!” She exclaims excitedly. I can’t help but laugh, but then I push it quickly away. I don’t want to encourage her.

“Because! Dating is…just…” I take a frustrated breath.

“Gracie, Richard was a bastard. Don’t let him ruin it for you. Love is out there for you.” Mary says gently. I press my lips together and take a deep breath.

“It’s complicate, Mary.”

“Well, then, uncomplicated it.” She offers. I wait, watching her, and she waits as well. Waits for me. I pull my shoulders up to my ears for a second and then sigh loudly. Alright.

“I…think I miss the idea of Richard. More than I actually miss him. I will never forget his lies. That betrayal is hard to let go of. But I think I’ve been…lonely for a long time. Even when I was with him. So, it’s not much different being single. Either way, I’m alone. It doesn’t bother me, Mary. I like it even. It’s always been this way.” This sort of spills from me, and when I look at Mary, her eyes are red rimmed. I sigh, shaking my head.

“Don’t go all soft on me, lady.” I warn gently. “With Richard, I thought I had…everything. And it turned out I had nothing. Less than nothing, because I was so blind to it. Blind to him. With Tom, I know what I have. Sex. Friendship. I know it sounds crazy. I know it doesn’t make sense to most people, but it makes sense to me. Tom’s offering me one thing, and I’m offering him the same thing in return. There’s no gray area. It’s black and white. Richard was all gray area. I need black and white right now.”

“Oh but, darling, what if you could have full color?” She asks softly. I pause, and then swallow. Her words hang fuzzy in the air between us, and I feel the weight of them on my chest.

“I don’t know if that’s…an option for me.” I say simply.

“I’m pretty sure that was, honestly, the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” She wipes an eye hastily and then shoots me an annoyed look. “And jesus, I thought _I_ was sad. Then you showed up, you little savior, you.” She says with a short laugh. I smile, and then roll my shoulders.

“I do what I can.” I breathe.

“Right, well, I’m setting you up with someone. Enough with this alone thing. Enough.” Mary looks at me with determination, and I know I’ve just lost a tiny war.


	25. August 2012: The Proposal

Jackson is a nice guy. A really nice guy. He’s good looking, if on the shorter side, and he’s a scientist at one of the local university research centers. He smells good, he opens doors, and we’ve gone on three dates. Well, “date” is a loose term. The first time we met, Mary was with us. I forced her to come. It took me almost a month to give in to her pleading to set me up, so I told her if I was going to do it, then she was going to suffer through it with me. So, we met for sushi and had a good evening just the three of us.

The second time, I accidentally bumped into Jackson at a bookstore. I’d been meaning to return his calls, I really had, but just hadn’t gotten around to it. After the sushi date, he’d texted me twice and left one voicemail. Instead, I ran right into him in the line for coffee at ‘The Page’. We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the café, talking about books and work and living in London. It had been nice. He smiled a lot, laughed at things that were funny and was very smart. I enjoyed his company, and was fairly surprised by how much I did.

The third time was on purpose. After the run in, we made plans to get dinner. He suggested a pub near his university, so I met him there. It was nice. He didn’t have a lot of time, as he was technically still working (he works crazy hours). That night we talked about relationships. Our last ones (I said Richard, he said a woman named Veronica). We both agreed that simplicity and honesty were good things. I thought of Tom only twice during that conversation.

It was a nice date. We had dinner, we split the bill, and he left with a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

So sparks weren’t exactly flying. I wasn’t about to go spend a few hundred dollars on lingerie to impress him. But I wasn’t opposed to seeing him again. And Mary’s constant questions and gentle nudges toward seeing him again made it more and more easy to just give in and say “yes.”

Early this morning, I sent him a quick text, asking if he’d like to join me at the pub for Emily’s birthday. I know everyone will be there. Tom included. I’m not saying that had any effect on my decision to invite Jackson, but…okay, maybe it did.

Because Tom and I haven’t talked since I last saw him. Since we danced to Billie Holiday, and I went home smelling his skin all over me. He did call me. Once. And I ignored it, because it was nearly midnight, and I knew why he was calling. It was the only reason he ever called me.

I ignored his call and then the next day, I had agreed to let Mary set me up with Jackson. I’m not blind. I see the connection. But in the interest of self preservation, I knew it was what I needed to do. Things with Tom were getting too blurry. I needed some clarity.

Jackson said he would meet me at the bar, since he was working late. He said the project his team was working on was intense, and possibly near a break through. He explained to me what they were researching, but he lost me somewhere around ‘incubation measurements’.

It’s closing in on eight as I make my way to the bar. I spent way too much time getting ready, and then was late after poking myself in the eye with eyeliner, thus ruining my whole ‘carefree and so good looking I don’t have to wear makeup, but really I’m wearing a ton of makeup’ look. I ended up having to wash my face and go with my standard mascara, bronzer and lip gloss. It went better with the simple black maxi dress I decided to wear anyway.

The pub is buzzing when I get there, and it’s crowded. I search through the crowd, and finally spot Emily across the room. She’s sitting at a big table, surrounded by people. Her blond hair is curled up, and she’s wearing a pretty little sundress with an open back. She looks happy, gorgeous and radiant. Mark is to her right, and they’re all laughing and carrying on. I smile, glad to see she’s having a good time.

I make my way over, and come up behind her, just as someone at the table says something funny and they all erupt in laughter. I don’t really recognize anyone there. There’s a few familiar faces, but I don’t see Tom, and I don’t see the handful of friends that I have met. My preferred night is one spent in, but I’ve met a small handful of Emily’s closest friends.

“Gracie! You came!” Emily turns when she senses me, and throws her arms around me. I laugh, hugging her and then giving Mark a pat on the shoulder.

“Of course I did. Happy Birthday!” I hand her a card and a small present, which are these really cool earrings I found in an outdoor market a few weekends ago. Emily beams and gives me another hug.

“Thank you. You’re so sweet.” She squeezes my arm. “You can pull a chair up if you’d like. This place is packed! Or you can join the other tables. Over there is Gretchen and John with Miranda and Phil. And my brother is somewhere on the other side, if you’d rather find him.” She gestures to just across the small pub. It’s quite the hole-in-the-wall, but I know it’s one of her favorite spots. I nod.

“A friend is meeting me here, so I’ll probably go find somewhere we can sit.” I smile. Mark turns around, thrusting a mug of beer in my hand. I take it, laughing.

“Here, darling. Slainte!” He smiles. I grin and we all clink our glasses together, the rest of the table joining in. There’s definitely no room for me and Jackson at Emily’s table, so I make my way through the small bar. I barely know her friends Gretchen and John, and when I spot them and the other couple, they are both making out rather ferociously at their table. Well.

Last resort. I keep going, holding my drink like some sort of security blanket, until I see a familiar face.

Tom’s sitting at a small table. His hair is longer than the last time I saw him, and it’s a sandy, almost russet brown. It brushes just by his ears, and he’s got a bit of stubble on his jaw and chin. I can’t miss those eyes though. And when he looks up, he sees me almost immediately, as if he can feel me staring at him. He’s wearing what looks like a light jacket over a plain tshirt and jeans.

He looks good enough to eat. Good enough that I don’t even notice he’s not alone. Not until it’s far too late. I’ve been spotted, and he smiles at me.

I take a step forward and then stop, when I realize he has his arm around the gorgeous blond sitting next to him. Ah. Didn’t see her. She sort of blends in with all the other gorgeous, thin, modelesque blonds in the bar. The man sure does know how to pick them. I blink, feeling a voice in my head scream “Run! Go! Get out!”, but my feet don’t listen. I move forward. Leaving now would be so obvious.

“Hi!” My voice is weird and high. Maybe she’s just another one of his cousins…who rest’s her hand on his thigh. Nope.

“Gracie! Hi.” Tom stands up, leaning over the small table and giving me a quick hug. I hug him back, and then glance at the woman still sitting next to him. She’s looking up at me with inquisitive, somewhat judgmental eyes.

“Hi. I’m just here for…for Emily’s birthday. My friend is meeting me in a bit.” I say awkwardly. Tom nods and looks at me with an amused smile.

“This place is packed. Do you want to sit? We can grab that other chair over there for your friend.” Tom is already moving before I can agree to stay. It’s sort of his way of doing things. I start to protest, but my voice is swallowed in the noise of the bar. Tom shoves the extra chair into the space between his friend, and the chair I’m standing by, then gestures for me to sit.

“Thank you.” I manage, and I plunk down next to him. We’re sitting rather close, so much so that my thigh is brushed up against his. I take a long drink from my beer and then look at him, smiling. He seems perfectly at ease, though I can practically hear my flight or fight gearing up to take over.

“Gracie, this is my friend, Serena. Serena, this is Gracie. Gracie’s good friends with Emily…and me.” Tom says with an ease that only he can possess. Only he could so easily, seamlessly introduce his fuck buddy to his girlfriend. I wasn’t born yesterday.

“Nice to meet you.” Serena smiles, but I can already tell that she has the personality of a cardboard box.

“You too.” I nod. I look at Tom and can’t help but send him daggers, which he seems to gladly accept, shaking his head at me.

“How are you?” He asks.

“Good. My friend is meeting me here.” I say.

“Yes, you said that. Who is your friend?” He says with this smug look. I want to smack it right off his face, but instead I press my leg into the side of his. He presses back, until we’re both pushing against each other, though you’d never tell judging from our faces. We both look absolutely totally and completely pleasant.

“His name is Jackson. He’s a scientist. He’s super smart and handsome.” God, could I be anymore lame?

Tom nods and then raises an eyebrow at me.

“Fascinating.” He mumbles as he takes a drink from his beer.

“He is.” I blink at him. “How did you two meet?” I gesture to Serena, who finally deems me worthy to look at. Tom licks his lips, and my hands once again itch to just give him a quick slap. Just a little one. Tom smiles at Serena, crinkling his nose as he does.

“We met on set. She’s an assistant to one of the other actors.” He said, looking back at me. I nod.

“Fascinating.” I can’t help myself. He narrows his eyes at me.

“Tom just swept me off my feet. He’s so charming.” Serena smiles, and I see her slip her hand onto his thigh again, and rub back and forth.

“Yes, charming. Yup.” I nod. I take another gulp of beer, and consider trying to drown myself in it, but then I’m sidetracked by a hand on my shoulder.

“Gracie. Sorry I’m late.” I look up, and my savior, Jackson is standing there. And he looks great. All studious and smart. He has on dark pants, and a plain white dress shirt with a herringbone jacket over top. He’s got on these great thick rimmed glasses, and I swear he just stepped out of a “Gorgeous Scientists of 2012” calendar—if that exists.

“Jackson! Hi!” I stand up, pulling him into a hug. He seems a bit surprised at first, because, maybe I’m laying it on a little thick, but he responds after a second.

“How’s research?” I smile, and I don’t bother waiting for an answer, because I’m far too nervous, and this is far too awkward. “Jackson, I want you to meet my friend Tom, and his friend Serena.” I turn, and lock eyes with Tom. He blinks and then turns to Jackson, smiling.

“Nice to meet you.” They shake hands, and seeing the two of them together feels strange. Like the dude I recently slept with and sort of have weird feelings for, shouldn’t be touching the guy I think is kind of interesting and forcing myself to see. Yeah.

We all sit back down, though Serena never got up. The conversation stays pretty light. Tom immediately starts asking Jackson questions, before I can get a word in edgewise. Where does he live? What does he do? What kind of research? Where did he go to school?

Jackson takes it all in stride, answering and being polite. After ten or so minutes of what seems like constant grilling, he excuses himself to go up to the bar and order a round for us. I turn quickly to Tom, jabbing him in the side.

“Jesus, Dad. Can you stop giving him the third degree?” I roll my eyes at Tom, who looks at me like he has no idea what I’m talking about.

“What?” He laughs, putting his hands up. I sneer at him and then jab him one more time for good measure. Serena is hardly paying attention, she’s sitting back, absorbed in something on her phone. I think we lost her at ‘incubation measurements’ as well. I don’t blame her honestly. I think Tom now knows more about my date than I do.

“What else would you like to know? His blood type? His hopes and dreams?” I sigh heavily, biting my lip to keep from yelling at him. Tom opens his mouth for a moment, and then closes it, pulling his head back and looking put off.

“We were just making conversation, Gracie girl.”

“Don’t ‘Gracie girl’ me.” I say softly.

“Have another beer, Gracie girl.” He pushes his pint toward me. I take it, despite myself, and drain his glass.

“Thanks.” I say pointedly.

Tom barely contains his laugh, shaking his head.

“He seems sort of pompous, if you ask me.” Tom says, and I’m almost sure he’s baiting me. I glare at him for a second before sitting back in my chair.

“Thank you, Mr Etonian, double firsts at Cambridge.” I grumble at him. He laughs, too loud to truly be humorous, and then turns to me with a sharp look.

“Did you _google_ me?!” He asks incredulously. I swallow and then mimic his fake laugh.

“No, Hiddleston. Don’t flatter yourself.” I scoff. Though, I totally did google him. “I do happen to know most of your immediate family. I don’t have time to google you. Why would I google you? I know what your house looks like. I spend Christmas with your bloody family. I know what you look like nake—“ I freeze, because it is just then that I realize Jackson has come back, and Serena is staring rather angrily at me. I can feel Jackson standing just over my shoulder, nearly overflowing beers dripping in his hands.

“Well.” Jackson says, setting down the beers. I turn to him, standing up and nearly knocking my chair over. Tom is quiet.

“I’m sorry. This is…awkward.” I manage. Jackson shrugs and then tucks his hands into his pockets.

“I should really get back to work anyway.” He says. I nod, feeling my face start to burn. He’s obviously blowing me off. In front of Tom and what’s her name. I feel like I’m being engulfed in my pathetic-ness.  

“I’m sorry.” I say again. Jackson just nods and then leans in, giving me a quick hug.

“You’re a nice girl, Gracie, but I can’t deal with any drama. If you’re not over your ex…” He trails off, and then pulls away, giving me an apologetic look. I blink, then shake my head.

“No…he’s not…” I start, but I know it’s not really worth it.

“Nice meeting you.” Jackson waves to Tom and Serena half heartedly, and then turns and leaves the bar. I stand, stunned and rather embarrassed for about thirty seconds. I am dreading turning around and facing Tom.

“Gracie…” Tom’s voice behind me, and I want so badly to just leave.

Thankfully, a few seconds later, we’re all interrupted. There’s a low rumble of noise coming from the other side of the bar. It starts as a sharp sort of cry, followed by a general uproar of sighs and exclamations. We all turn toward the noise, which I quickly realize is coming from where Emily is sitting. Tom gets up immediately, leaning forward as if ready to spring into action.

It takes me a minute, and a bit of standing on my tip toes to see through the crowd, to realize what is happening.

Mark is down on his knee. Emily is crying, her face filled with happiness and excitement. All her friends at her table are yelling out, laughing and crying as well. Mark is proposing to Emily.

I’m overjoyed for her. I’m ecstatic for her. I’m…I’m…I’m wondering how long until I can sneak out of this place, and go bury myself in a mountain of ice cream. I really, truly am happy for her. Her and Mark have been a given since they got together, so it’s not surprising that he’s finally proposed. And in quite a public way. Emily seems to eat it up though, and they immediately start celebrating with their friends.

I manage to squeeze in, congratulate them both. It’s all a blur—a loud, hectic, celebratory blur. I lose track of Tom almost instantly, which I’m so thankful for. I was basically just dumped in front of him, and I’d like to not relive that for quite some time. My first try at dating since…well…Richard, and I’m managed to rather fantastically land on my face.

I have one more drink with the group, it’s a small drink. I guzzle it down in all of a minute, just so I don’t feel bad about sneaking out. The old Irish goodbye. And then I take my sad, dumped, slightly drunk self and slip out of the pub.

 

**** 

 

The summer night air is nice, and it’s quiet outside which is a vast change from the pub. I take a deep breath as I walk out and check my phone as I do. No messages. No texts. No calls. Not surprising. I wonder if there’s a shop open still, so I can buy as much ice cream as I can possibly find. Maybe I will fill my tub with it and just bathe in it. Honestly, that sounds horrible, but I feel horrible. I picture myself in a soupy, chilly tub full of melted Chubby Hubby, just dipping my chin down low and slurping up my sad ice cream bath. Depressing.

Jackson wasn’t anyone all that special. But it was nice to entertain the idea again. The idea of…something.

I groan softly, pushing my hair over my shoulder and trying to shake off the terrible feeling I have. I can only imagine the reaction I’ll get from Mary when I tell her how royally I messed up. I pick up my pace a bit, feeling overwhelmed. I look around as I walk quickly through the still somewhat foreign streets. It’s hard to feel at home, when you’ve got no ties anywhere.

I think of Santos as I cross the street. I miss him fiercely. He’s promised he’ll be in for Christmas, which seems forever away, though it’s only four months. I hold my breath as I walk, trying to force down the homesick feeling I have. I know if he were here now, he’d make me laugh. He’d make fun of me and my terrible timing, and then he’d offer to buy all the ice cream.

“Gracie.” The voice behind me startles me from my thoughts, and I turn to look behind my shoulder. I’m just drunk enough that I’m legitimately disappointed when I turn around and it’s not Santos standing there.

Tom is a few steps behind, looking worried and a bit out of breath. I stop, crossing my arms over my chest.

“What are you doing?” I ask, not bothering to hide the anger and annoyance in my voice.

“You left without saying anything.” He catches up to me, and then stops a foot away. I sigh, shaking my head and rolling my eyes.

“So?”

“Is everything alright?” He asks. I press my lips together. What does he care?

“Yes.” I nod, lying. It’s Tom’s turn to look annoyed. He sighs and looks down, his hands coming up to his hips.

“I’m sorry about your date. That was shitty.” He looks back at me and I shrug.

“It’s fine. It happens.”

“Right, well he’s an idiot.”

“It’s my fault.” My voice sounds robotic. “Where’s your girlfriend?” I ask. Tom’s jaw clenches and he looks away, then back to me.

“She went home.” He says simply. I nod and then turn to leave, moving to walk away.

“Goodnight, Tom.” I say over my shoulder. I make it a few steps before I feel him. He grabs my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. He pulls me back, and spins me around so I’m inches from his chest. I stare straight forward, refusing to look at him.

“Tom.” I whisper. “Pineapple.” I say finally. There’s silence between us, and Tom is quiet, his hand still wrapped around mine. I peek a glance up at him, and he’s looking ahead, his eyes seem far away.

“Pineapple.” I repeat. “And, I…I don’t mean for now. I mean, for good. I don’t think this is a good idea anymore.” I say softly. I didn’t realize it was what I was going to say, but as I do it, I know that it’s what I’ve needed to say to him. He looks down at me, finally, and I feel myself sway slightly.

“Really? You’re done.” His voice is quiet. I nod slowly.

“Yes.” I swallow. Tom is silent. He looks at me, his blue eyes full of concern. I want to walk away, I want to leave, but I feel glued to the spot. Tom leans forward then, the side of his face brushing against mine. I hold my breath, feeling the heat of his body so near mine. He is a force I’ve still not yet understood how to conquer.

He moves his face backward, and then his mouth is right next to mine, nearly touching it. If I breathe too deeply, we’ll touch. I close my eyes for a second, and then I tilt my head down and away, taking a breath.

“You have a girlfriend.” I manage. I won’t break one of the rules.

“I know.” He says, his voice full of emotion. Disappointment? Anger? At what, I’m not sure. When I work up the courage to look at him finally, he’s looking down at me, his eyes so intense I involuntarily squeeze his hand. He leans down again, and this time, his mouth brushes against the corner of mine.

I count backwards from five, and then I put both hands up on his chest, pushing gently.

“Don’t.” I whisper, my words pleading and desperate.

And with that, I turn quickly, and nearly run down the street, only stopping when I’ve made it three blocks and I know he hasn’t followed me.


	26. December 2012: Curious Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to my friends on FB who have given me so much input and help with this chapter (if you're not friends with me, add me!), and the next chapter. @Bluebell84, @redwritinghood09, @twiddles_, RaeTP, @fionarhiannon, @madametango, Maria G, Suvi, Sarah D, Suzelle, Sara, @jroriente, Kate C, Helen, and anyone else who has helped and contributed! You guys keep me laughing and motivated.
> 
> To all you readers-- thank you. I love all your comments and reactions, and your responses keep me going. :D

 

“I’m not coming.” I pull at the knit of my sweater, then brace myself for impact. 

“You bitch. You are coming. I’m about to get on the fucking plane.” Santos spits out, his voice shrill and about two octaves too high.  I groan and slump back against my couch.  It’s two days until Christmas.  I’m sitting in my tiny apartment, wearing about three layers of sweaters and trying to forget that the holidays are looming.

“I know. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel like you shouldn’t go.  But I just can’t, Santos.” I take a breath and then wait.  The line is quiet for a minute, and I’m afraid he’s hung up.

“Santos?”

“You really haven’t talked to him in four months?” He asks finally.  Tom’s face pops into my head, and I feel a heaviness settle onto my shoulders. I don’t want to talk about him, but he’s often one of Santos’ favorite subjects. It goes Cillian, Tom Hiddleston, and Zac Efron, in that order.

“We don’t have anything to say to each other.  I don’t think it’s appropriate that I show up at his family’s home for Christmas.” I bite on my lip.  It’s not something I’m happy about.  Spending Christmas with the Hiddleston’s has long been one of the highlights of my year for the past two years.  It’s just about the only “family” gathering I get to have.  

This year, Aunt Tara called and told me I was welcome to come to their house for Christmas, but then I was told my father would be there.  And I just don’t feel like dealing with him. Besides his bi-monthly call to “check in” and usually ask for money or some hand out, I don’t feel the need to see him. 

And my mother is a whole other story. I haven’t talked to her in god know’s how long.  I’m not even sure if she’s still in New York.  Last I heard, she was remarrying someone she’d known for about three months. Good luck.

“You’re honestly killing me.  Listen, I’ve got to get on this fucking plane.  I will call you when I’m in Sandbanks.” Santos sounds angry, and agitated, but it’s nothing I haven’t faced before.

“Okay. Safe flight.” I sigh and hang up before he can start yelling again. I waited so long to tell him because I didn’t want it to keep him from going. The Christmas get together is just about all the family time Santos gets as well.

Just as I hang up, my phone starts ringing again. I wince, thinking it’s Santos, ready to curse me out again, but it’s not.

“Hi Mary.” I smile as I answer.

“So what are you up to?” She asks, her voice carefree and light.

“Nothing really. I think I’m going to binge watch some tv, and then rearrange my sock drawer.” I laugh, knowing that this is partially true.

“Holiday plans?” She asks, ignoring my flippant answer.

“Nothing really.”

“Well, that’s not sad at all.” Mary scoffs. “You’re welcome to come with me.  I’m going to my ex-mother in laws. Yes, you heard that right. It’s a whole big thing.  Not awkward at all.  You can meet my ex, and then we can make fun of him the whole time.” She says with a laugh.  I smile, knowing it must be quite a circus.  I’ve heard a lot about her ex husband, and the fact that Mary still regularly sees him (platonically only, except for one slip up two years ago at a new year’s party, understandably).

“Thanks, sounds tempting.”

“Oh yes.  Well, I just wanted to wish you a happy Christmas.  And I know we’ve been sort of skirting around the issue, but I wanted to tell you…well, really, offer you… offer you a full time position at Cleredon.  I know that you weren’t planning on staying in London, but we’d love to have you.  I know the gallery isn’t exactly living up to all your expectations.  And I’d be chuffed to bits if you’d stay on with us.” Mary exclaims.  Her words sink in, and I’m a bit shocked at first. 

She’d mentioned bringing me in full time, but I had thought it was just a musing.  The thought of staying in London, possibly permanently, was a completely new idea to me.  Sure, it had become home in the last few months.  Although it is far from Santos, and my estranged family in New York, it seems more familiar to me than New York.  I love working at Cleredon and my friendship with Mary is a breath of fresh air. I know coming on full time would mean many more opportunities, as well as more hands on work with the art and artifacts in the house.

I can’t speak for a moment.

“Well, just think it through over the holiday, yeah? And we can discuss after the new year.” Mary says, her voice still chipper. 

“Mary…yes. I mean, I will think about it but, thank you.  Thank you for the offer.” I say breathlessly.  She laughs.

“Of course, darling.  Now just let me know if you’re going to come with me for Christmas. Send me a text.” She states just as my phone starts beeping.  I frown, pulling back and looking at the screen.  Someone else is calling.  When I see the name, my heart jumps to my throat.

“Okay, Mary.  Talk to you soon.  Happy Christmas.” I say quickly.  She says goodbye, and then I stare at my screen for a half second before switching over to the incoming call.

“Hello?” I feel my mouth go dry.

“Hi Gracie.  How are you?” Tom asks, his voice calm and cool.  I chew on the inside of my lip.

“Great, Tom. How are you?” Oh, we are just so polite and adult. It’s not that we left off hating each other, but it wasn’t exactly on the best of terms. And we’d never really smoothed things out.

“I’m good. I’m at my mum’s in Sandbanks.  When will you be here?” He asks.  I’m a bit stunned and I have to take a moment to pull my thoughts together.

“I’m not going to come this year.  I thought it…for the best.” I say finally.  Tom clears his throat.  Well, this is uncomfortable.

“Please, reconsider.  I know that we…” He pauses.  “I know you and I...” He sighs, as if he can’t find the right words. Shocking for someone like Tom, who always seems to have something to say. Even when you wish he didn’t.

“ You’re still welcome here. My mother would love to see you, as well as Emily.” He says finally.  What about you, Tom? Would you like to see me? I wonder.

“I don’t know.” I manage.

“Santos will be here soon. Please come.” He waits.  Ah, Santos.

“Did Santos call you? Just now?” I ask, my heart rate picking up.  Santos, that meddler.  His hands in every pot.  I shake my head.

“No.” Tom lies.

“Don’t do this just because Santos asked you to.” I say bluntly. 

“Don’t refuse to come simply because you and I aren’t on good terms.  My family and your best friend are all waiting to see you.” Tom shoots back.  The bastard.  “And it’s Christmas. So please, forgive me for being a giant knob the last time we spoke, and get your ass on the next ferry.”

Well. When he puts it that way.

  

**** 

 

The Christmas tree in the big room greets me as I walk into the house. Inside it smells like cinnamon and apples and cookies. It’s as if I’ve stepped directly into a gingerbread house. Only, I’m on the English coast, on a somewhat isolated peninsula. Same thing, right?

“Hello?” I call out, setting my bag down as I step inside. The house is surprisingly quiet, but I can hear a murmur of voices from the kitchen. I slept on it, and then managed to catch one of the last ferries over, after flinging together a haphazardly packed bag and hauling ass out of my apartment the next morning. I called Mary on the way, telling her I was going to Sandbanks to stay with Tom’s family for the holidays. Her reply was a lot of clucking noises and a few rather personal questions that I won’t repeat.

Being the last ferry on Christmas eve, it was pretty empty. It gave me time to set up some rules for myself for this holiday. The first was that I would not, absolutely not, have sex with Tom. Even if he offered me himself naked and covered in chocolate on a gold platter, I will abstain from his particular brand of indulgence. Second, I will try to forge some kind of real friendship with him. Something based on things we have in common and mutual hobbies, and not on the fact that our body parts seem to fit so splendidly well against each other. Third, I will try to relax and have fun.  

All simple rules. All make sense for my current state of mind. It’s been two years since Richard. Two years since I first met Tom. I’m ready to move forward. I’m no longer working part time at a tiny gallery in New York (or I won’t be once I accept the offer from Mary. I’m dreading the call to Vera). I’m no longer a sad, lonely, pathetic post grad. Sure, I still spend a lot of my time alone. But I’ve always been that way. You can’t have your hopes and dreams dashed if you don’t ever vocalize them. If you never make them into solid, concrete things, then they just stay as they are—amorphous, vapid, easily dissolved figments.

“Hello?” a voice calls out from the kitchen, and then I see the face that accompanies it, poking around the corner. Emily shrieks and then catapults toward me, laughing as she pulls me into a hug.

“You! I didn’t think you were going to come. Santos said you had work—“ She says with a laugh. I hug her, shaking my head.

“I got out of it.” I lie. Good ‘ol Santos. Covering my ass since 2003.

“Iiiiii….don’t want a lot for Christmassssssssss.” A piercing voice comes from out of sight, and Emily and I both freeze, looking toward the big main room. “Thereeeee is just one thing I needddddd.”

Emily laughs and lets go of me, and we both wait. I chuckle, waiting for the big reveal.

“I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree!” Santos walks around the corner, his arms raised, his head thrown back as if he’s Mariah Carey incarnate. He’s wearing a jeans, and quite possibly the ugliest Christmas sweater I’ve ever seen. There’s a lot of sequins and white fluff, and possibly some kind of fake fur.

“I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know. Make my wish come trueeee!” He goes into a falsetto that I’m sure is making dogs bark all over the peninsula. “All I want for Christmas is you.” Santos walks over, kneeling down in front of me and grabbing me around my waist while pressing his face into my stomach. I laugh, wrapping my arms around his head and then yanking him to his feet.

“Mariah, I’ve missed you.” I grin as he laughs and we hug.

“Dolllllface.” Santos grins and stands up to his full height. We hug properly, squeezing each other as we rock back and forth. It has been some time since I’ve seen him. No amount of text messages and skype sessions are a substitute for the real thing.

“I’ve missed you.” I say into his shoulder as he lifts me up and then shakes me like some sort of ragdoll.

“I’ve missed you. Why aren’t you speaking with an English accent now, dah-ling? Like Madonna?” He asks, setting me down. I scrunch my nose at him and then smooth out my rumpled shirt.

“Shut up. Where is Cillian?” I ask, knowing there was no way Santos would be there without him.

“He’s in the kitchen with Mrs. H. They’re making gingerbread men.”

“Santos is really good at accessorizing the gingerbread cookies.” Emily grins at me, and then they both usher me toward the kitchen.

It’s good to be back at the house in Sandbanks. It’s a place that is really only full of good memories for me. Idyllic Christmas’ like I never had as a kid. Christmas lights, decorated trees, warm fireplaces and lots of mulled wine and cider. I feel instantly at ease as I follow Santos and Emily toward the kitchen. Santos is rattling on about decorating his cookie in couture, and Emily is interjecting about how Santos should go wedding dress shopping with her.

The kitchen is brightly lit and the smell of ginger and cinnamon are even stronger as we round the corner. I see Mrs. Hiddleston first. She looks up, her blue eyes full of cheer as she smiles and says my name when she sees me. I bound over, unable to hide my excitement. I see her more often now that I live in London, but it’s still not nearly enough. I embrace her, and she laughs as she apologizes for her flour covered hands.

“Merry Christmas. Thank you for having me.” I say, releasing her from the hug.

“We were so upset when we thought you wouldn’t be able to come.” She says, as she moves back to where she’s helping Cillian put cut out cookies on a tray. Cillian looks up and beams at me, his handsome face lighting up. I’ve met Cillian in person only once before, but we’ve talked on the phone many times. He leans across the table and we kiss each other on the cheek.

“Gracie, I’m terrible at this and I’m afraid Santos is going to leave me if I don’t brush up on my gingerbread making skills.” He grins, his gray green eyes flashing toward Santos, who is watching with a huge grin.

“No, never.” Santos throws an arm around Cillian’s lean waist. They’re an impressive looking couple. Santos is all dark, and swarthy looking. Cillian is icy blond, tall like Santos, but leaner. He has startling gray green eyes, like the rough surf of the sea in the winter. Still, when he smiles, his whole face warms, and around Santos he seems to smile a lot.

“Hi, Cillian. It’s good to see you.” I say warmly as I lean against the counter to see how their cookies are looking.

“You too, Gracie.” He smiles and lifts up his cookie for me to see.

“We saved one for you.” The voice comes up behind me, and my whole body reacts when I feel him. Tom slides behind me and one long arm comes up next to me, placing a plain gingerbread man cookie on a plate in front of me. I hold my breath for a second before turning slowly.

“Thank you.” I say as I turn, making eye contact with him. He’s got a few days worth of stubble, and his hair is back to being short on the sides, and a bit longer and wavy on top. He’s wearing a black cardigan over a black tshirt, and jeans.

“Merry Christmas, Gracie. Good to see you.” He says, his voice low. I can hear Mrs. Hiddleston to the side of us, talking to Emily about wedding plans. Cillian and Santos are chatting about their gingerbread cookies, though I can feel Santos’ eyes on me. He’s doing what he does best, pretending to look busy while absorbing every detail that’s happening in the room.

“Merry Christmas.” I say as Tom leans forward and envelopes me into a hug. I’m a bit surprised at first, but then I hug him back, patting him gently like he’s some sort of small child or puppy.

“How are you at gingerbread decorating? I’m abysmal.” He holds up a cookie that does look terrible.

“Let’s just call it abstract.” I give him a small smile and he laughs and nods in agreement.

“You can teach me a thing or two, then?” He asks. I press my lips together, trying to remember my rules.

“Sure. Can you get me a glass of wine, first?” I request. Tom smiles warmly and then nods, turning and moving around the kitchen.

“Gracie we’re going to a Christmas tree lighting in about half an hour, if you’re up to it. It’s in the center of town. They’ve got a huge tree they light up. It’s quite festive.” Mrs. Hiddleston says, handing me icing and little candy decorations.

“If you’re too tired from traveling you can stay here to rest.” Emily interjects as Mark enters the kitchen.

“Ah, hello Gracie!” Mark raises a hand and comes over to hug me. We embrace as Tom walks back over, handing me some red wine. I nod ‘thanks’ to him.

“Hi Mark.” I smile, and then turn my attention back to Mrs. Hiddleston. I’m tired, but it’s only about a three hour drive from London, so I’m not exhausted. “I’d love to come, thank you. It sounds great.” I nod.

“We’ll all pack up in the cars then. Mark said he’d drive, and so did Tom.” Emily says.

“Em, we should talk wedding details on the way over. Dresses, tablescapes…” Santos says, and then looks at me and smiles widely. “Gracie, you’ll be good to drive with Tom and Mrs. H, then?” He asks. I blink at him, and silently curse his name.

“Absolutely.” I say brightly. “I might go freshen up before we leave.” I add, turning to go grab my things and get settled into my room.

“Oh, Gracie!” Mrs. Hiddleston stops me. “I’ve put you up in the room at the far end of the hall this year. We’re renovating the two smaller rooms you and Santos usually stay in. And I’ve put Santos and Cillian in the guest room down here, off the library.” She says, turning toward Tom, who has been standing quietly at the end of the kitchen island.

“I’ll show her.” He says, reading his mother’s mind.

“Thank you, Tom.” Mrs. Hiddleston nods with a smile at us both. I follow Tom out of the kitchen, stopping briefly to grab my bag where I left it at the door.

Tom turns, taking it from my hand, though I’m perfectly capable to carry the small overnight bag by myself.

“Packing light.” He lifts the bag up easily.

“I can’t stay the whole week. Work.” I explain quickly. He nods curtly, and then turns and leads me up the stairs.

“Mom’s put you in the room next to mine. She got the brilliant idea to redecorate and do some renovation in your normal room about two weeks before the holidays. So, they’re not quite ready.” He says nonchalantly. I’m quiet as we make our way up the staircase.

“She has plenty of rooms. Your mom is so generous.” I follow closely at Tom’s heels.

“She is. And it’s just us this year. Most of my aunts and uncles are visiting with other relatives. So it’s small.” He turns back as we reach the top of the stairs, and the start of the hallway.

“Your room connects with mine via a shared bath.” He looks at me, though his features are dark in the rather dim hallway. I can’t really make out his expression, which makes me uncomfortable.

“Okay.”

“You look well, Gracie.” He says out of nowhere. I stiffen, and clasp my hands in front of me.

“I am well.” I shrug.

“Are we…okay?” His words are soft and clipped, as if he’s both worried and embarrassed. I’m surprised he’s asking, and I feel a dull muffled pain in my chest, like the wind getting knocked out.

“Yes, of course we are.” I shake my head. He lurches forward as if he’s going to move on down the hall, but then he stops and looks at me.

“It’s none of my business. But I…are you with anyone?” He asks. I consider lying, but I don’t see the point.

“It’s not any of your business.” I say quickly, not being able to stop myself from being a bit mean. “But…no.” I bite my lip for a second and then push forward.

“How’s Serena?” I ask, my voice bright.

“There hasn’t been a Serena for quite some time.” He says with a soft laugh. We’re both quiet. I shift my feet and then speak.

“Show me my room, Tom? I need to change for the tree lighting.” I ask gently. He nods as if suddenly remembering why we’re standing in the hallway.

“Yes, of course.” He leads the way, and then shows me to my room. He doesn’t stay, but sets my bag down on the bed and then gives me a quick smile before turning and leaving, closing the door softly behind him.

 **** 

 

We bundle up and head to the tree lighting. It’s just barely above freezing, so we’ve all got on our winter coats, scarves and hats. Santos had to change out of his ugly Christmas sweater because all of the fake fur and pom poms wouldn’t fit under his winter coat. He complained about this for at least fifteen minutes once we got to the festival, before Cillian shut him up by buying him a hot chocolate.

“I’m going to take Mom to get some of those ornaments she loves.” Emily says as we settle into a spot toward the back of the crowd. It’s crowded, but not terribly so. We can see the tree a few yards away, and a sound system has been set up to play Christmas music. Most people are just standing around, chatting and drinking cocoa. Others are dancing, slightly hindered by their heavy winter coats. Kids are running around, squealing with delight that only Christmas eve can bring.

“This is lovely. I haven’t done something like this in forever.” I smile, looking around. We’re surrounded by shops, which have lights and candles decorating their windows and storefronts. In the center of the small town, there’s a large gathering area, where they’ve set up the tree and a few refreshment vendors.

“Me either.” Tom says. I look up at him, and notice how the tip of his nose is red, his cheeks pink from the cold weather. He’s smiling like he’s a little kid, and when he looks at me, he starts singing along with the music.

“Have yourself…a merry little Christmas. Let your heart be light. From now on your troubles will be out of sight.” He lowers his head, leaning down and singing quietly into my ear. I smile, feeling his voice go straight through me. Sometimes there are moments that are so painfully perfect, you just want to remember them. Keep them bundled up, tight inside you. You don’t need to share them with anyone else, it’s just for you to remember. I’d like to keep this one.

I can see Santos and Cillian, leaning into each other and singing together in rather animated, happy fashion like bad karaoke. Emily, Mark and Mrs. Hiddleston are across the square, looking at tables set up with tiny holiday trinkets and ornaments. Tom is standing to my side, his shoulder and side bumping into mine as he sings—mostly to himself, but also to me.

‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ ends, and a contemporary, bluesy version of “Blue Christmas” starts up. The music sways back and forth, low and playful as the singing starts. Tom turns to me, and grabs my hands, yanking me into him as he starts dancing. I laugh, playing along.

“I’ll have a blue Christmas, without you. I’ll be blue just thinking about you. Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree.” Tom sings, and I join in with a laugh.

“Won’t be the same dear, if you’re not here with me.” We sing together. He dips me back, and then spins me before bringing me back to his chest.

“You kids are adorable.” Santos pipes in. Tom and I straighten up, and Tom lets me go, but we both laugh happily.

“Shush.” I scold Santos, feeling my cheeks warm.

“Do you want a hot chocolate?” Tom asks me. His hand is still at the small of my back, and I feel him press against me through my coat. I nod and smile, and he turns and leaves to go get us drinks. Santos steps closer, and throws his arm over my shoulder.

“Do you think your babies would be small like you, or tall and god-like, like him?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at me. My eyes go huge and I elbow Santos quickly.

“Don’t be an ass.” I warn him. Cillian walks over, standing to the side of Santos.

“Gracie, he is gorgeous. Why don’t you bag that one?” He asks, his eyes following Tom to where the hot chocolate line has formed. I feel a tug in my stomach and I glare at both of them.

“I don’t think he’s…baggable.” I say with a nervous laugh. Santos rolls his eyes at me, and gives Cillian a knowing look. I’m sure they’ve talked about me before, and about my situation with Tom. With Santos, my problems are his problems. Cillian clears his throat.

“He looks at you like he wants to put you on his white horse and take you back to his castle.” Cillian says, rubbing his hands together as if he’s just had a brilliant idea. I laugh, not being able to help myself.

“Stop.” I warn them. Santos is about to speak, but then Emily, Mark and Mrs. Hiddleston come back over. Mrs. Hiddleston has a small bag, and she quickly goes about showing us the ornaments she’s bought. Glittery, delicate snowflakes and little fiber woodland animals dotted with fake snow.

“Those are adorable, Mrs. H.” Santos coos, holding up one of a squirrel holding a tiny acorn. Tom comes back over, and hands me a paper cup with a lid. I see steam rising from the top, and I cup my hands around it, warming them.

“Thank you.” I say gratefully. He grins and then gives his mother the appropriate “ooh” and “aahs” over her purchases. Emily keeps glancing at Tom, almost nervously. I watch her eye him up as if she wants to speak with him, but can’t do so without making a scene. Tom seems oblivious as he comments on the ornaments.

“Tom—“ Emily suddenly says, but then Mrs. Hiddleston interrupts her.

“Oh, Tom, I saw Kelly over there by the little shops. She says ‘hello’ and ‘happy Christmas’.” Mrs. Hiddleston says, pointing over to where she’d bought her ornaments. “You haven’t spoken to her recently?” She asks. Tom shifts and the atmosphere seems to change almost immediately.  Emily stops moving, and I can see her watching her brother, her face stern.

“Oh? No, no I haven’t had a chance to talk to her recently.” He says noncommittally. I risk a glance at Santos, who has his hot chocolate cup frozen halfway to his mouth and he’s staring directly at me. He raises an eyebrow at me, inquisitively and I give him a tiny shrug.

“She was over there with her family, and her husband. Did you want to say hello?” Mrs. Hiddleston asks. Although it is winter, and rather cold outside, the air seems to get a bit chillier. Tom looks at his mother, as only a son can—slightly embarrassed, a bit annoyed, and something else.

“Mum. No.” He says quietly. Mrs. Hiddleston’s face softens, and she smiles at Tom, reaching forward and patting his arm.

“Sorry, love.” She says softly.

“Look, they’re going to light the tree!” Emily exclaims suddenly, pulling us all from whatever just happened. We turn quickly, forming a little line so we can all see. I hold my warm drink in my hand, standing rigidly next to Tom, who is staring straight ahead, his eyes focused entirely on the scene ahead of us. The tree is lit quickly, ablaze with thousands of tiny lights. There’s a general outcry from the crowd, followed by a sea of excitement as everything comes to life.

“Who is Kelly?” Santos comes up next to me, pushing his face right next to mine, his mouth by my ear. I glance at him and shake my head.

“I don’t know.” I whisper back harshly.

“Hmm. Curiouser and curiouser.” He retorts, then puts an arm around my shoulder. Curious, indeed.


	27. December 2012: Cookies

As soon as we get back to the house, Santos and Emily spring into action, trying to get together a drinking game.  Mrs. Hiddleston’s neighbors have stopped by for some Christmas eve drinks, so they are busying themselves in the kitchen. Tom was quiet on the way back, hardly speaking and obviously mulling something over in his head.

I had an idea what…or who, it was. He disappears as soon as we get back, so I don’t have a chance to talk to him.

I go to my room, deciding to change into something comfortable. I’m still cold from the tree lighting, so I pull on some yoga pants, a tank top and a thick knit cardigan on top of that.  The room I’m in is only a tiny bit larger than my usual room, but it has a queen sized bed, which takes up most of the space.  Normally, some of the cousins or aunts stay in this room, but since it’s just us, it’s nice to have a big bed for the stay.  I slip my feet into a fluffy pair of socks, and then head back downstairs to try and find Tom, and the others.

I make my way toward the kitchen, the main room darkened except for the glow of the Christmas tree.  I stop short as I’m about to round the corner, when I hear the Mrs. Hiddleston’s hushed voice.  I hold my breath, pausing before I get to the doorway.

“If you have feelings for her, you need to say something. Do something, Thomas.” I hear Mrs. Hiddleston say, her voice a loud whisper.  I know that I shouldn’t be listening in.  I’m not sure who they’re talking about, but I’m pretty certain it may have something to do with the woman that Mrs. Hiddleston saw at the tree lighting.  I feel my stomach tighten, and I wait for his response.

“Mum. Please. I…” Tom sounds frustrated, angry.

“It’s been years.” She says gently.  I lean against the doorframe, hiding just out of sight.

“I know it’s been years. It’s not that easy.” He says. “Mum, I love you, but please.”

“I just hate seeing you like this. You know—“

“Don’t worry about me, really.” He states, his voice gentler, quieter.  “You’d be surprised, I’m smarter than I look.” He says with a soft laugh.  I hear Mrs. Hiddleston chuckle, and make a few tutting noises.  There’s silence, and I stay still, pressed against the wall.  A part of me feels terrible for listening in, but mostly I just feel a little like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me.  A moment later, I hear movement, and then I’m jolted quickly into action when Tom comes around the corner.  He hesitates when he sees me, and I try my best to look like I’ve just gotten there. 

“Tom! I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to play the game with us.” I say quickly, pushing my hands into my sweater pockets.  Tom’s jaw is set, and he looks at me with serious, dagger-like eyes.

“Are you…alright?” I take a step back, and hope he hasn’t figured out I was eavesdropping.

“I’m fine.” He says slowly, and I see a muscle in his jaw clench.

“Right. Well. We’re playing some card games—“

“I’m probably going to relax in my room.  This is the first few days off I’ve had in awhile, and I’m knackered. Thank you, though.” He shakes his head swiftly.  He’s still watching me carefully, as if trying to figure out how much I could have heard of the conversation he was just having.

I hear Santos and Emily cackling from somewhere downstairs in the basement, and then a low rumble of yells from Mark and Cillian.  Apparently, they’ve already started drinking and games.  They won’t miss me.

“Do you…want some company?” I say quickly, before I can properly think my question through.  I look up at Tom, and he breathes out softly.

“Yes. Sure.  I’m going to go change.  Do you want to grab some wine? And meet me upstairs?” He asks, gesturing to the kitchen.  I nod, feeling a bit too relieved that he didn’t totally reject me. 

“Okay.” I agree and turn quickly. 

I grab a bottle of red and two glasses from the empty kitchen.  Mrs. Hiddleston is in the small room off the kitchen with her neighbors, and I can hear them talking quietly. 

Dear Mrs. H, I promise I’m not going to go defile your son. Not this time.  This time, I’ll be good.  I promise. Amen, forever and ever, etcetera.

I grab a bag of cookies as I leave the kitchen and then I make my way up to Tom’s room.

He doesn’t have his door closed, but it’s cracked.  I stop just outside, and just inside the sliver of an opening, I can see Tom.  He has his back to me, and he’s shirtless.  He has on sweats, which are hanging so low on his narrow hips, I’m surprised they haven’t fallen off.  I hold my breath, feeling like the ultimate creep, but I can’t quite bring myself to knock.  Not just yet.  He pulls a tshirt on, and then turns and reaches for the waist of his pants, pulling at the drawstring.  Okay. Okay. Enough.

I reach forward, tapping lightly with the back of my knuckles. 

Tom opens it a second later, looking relaxed and a little bit tired.

“Fancy meeting you here.” He grins and then lets me into his room.  It’s the same as it always looks.  A single lamp on toward the far end of the room, casting a golden glow.  His big, wide bed covered in pillows and a dark blue comforter.  His suitcase sitting on the floor, a few of his things scattered around the room. 

“This is for you. And I brought these as well.” I hand him the bottle of wine, and then hold up the cookies.  Tom’s eyes light up and he breaks into a happy, almost childlike grin.

“You brilliant girl.” He sighs and reaches to grab the bag, but I hold it back out of his reach with a laugh.

“Wine first.” I say, setting the cookies on his nightstand.  He nods obediently, and takes the two glasses from me.

“Did you have a good time at the lighting?” He asks, his voice casual and carefree.  He glances over at me as I take a seat on the edge of his bed.

“I did. Very festive.” I say, not sure what else to say without bringing up the mysterious Kelly.  I’m dying to ask. “How about you?” I ask, as Tom hands me a glass of wine.

“Great. Very festive.”

Well, this is getting us nowhere fast.  I’ve known the man for two years, and yet I’m struggling to have a coherent, interesting conversation with him. 

“How’s work?” I ask. I might as well as him about the weather, while I’m at it.

“Hectic. A little stressful, all the traveling. But I’ve got some good news recently.” He sits down next to me, his thigh bumping into mine.  Tom looks over, his face expectant and excited.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve just signed on for a play at the Donmar at the end of the year.  Which means I’ll be able to stay in London for a good bit of time.” He looks at me happily, his eyes wide.

“That’s amazing!  That’s a big deal.” I raise my glass, and we clink them together.

“It really is. And it’s Shakespeare so…” He trails off, looking thrilled and a bit mystified.  “I’m so excited.  But you’re the first I’ve told. I haven’t told mum yet, or Em. I didn’t want to tell them unless I was sure it would happen.  And just before break, I got the confirmation.” He laughs and then runs a hand over his jaw.  “It’s going to be a brutal show, but I’m just so excited for it.”

I feel myself laughing, simply because he is.  His enthusiasm is contagious, and I reach for him, grabbing onto his bicep.

“How long will you be around?” I ask, squeezing his arm and then letting go.  He bobs his head back and forth and then takes a sip of wine.

“The show runs mid December through beginning of February.  I have rehearsals and all of that for the three months before.  I’m looking forward to being home for longer than a week or two.” He grins at me and takes a deep breath. He seems content—satisfied.

“I’m going to be in London for awhile as well.” I say softly, looking down at my hands as I wrap them around my glass. 

“Oh?” Tom’s voice is surprised, softer now. 

“Mary offered me full time at Cleredon.  I haven’t told anyone either.  Not Santos.  She just offered it to me the other day, and I told her I’d think about it, but I already know I want it.” I look at Tom, not sure why I’m telling him this.  I don’t think I was entirely sure I was going to stay on until I just verbalized it to him.

“That’s amazing, Gracie.  Congratulations.” His smile widens, and he puts an arm around my shoulders, squeezing.

“Thanks.” I smile.  “I don’t think the gallery was really working out.  And I love the historical part of my job.  I didn’t think I would but…” I shrug. Tom nods.

“It’s funny what catches us off guard.  You don’t think it’s what you want or what you’re looking for and BAM!” He moves his hands, as he always does, his eyes popping.  “And bam, it’s the right thing for you.”

We’re quiet for a minute, sitting next to each other, sort of staring straight forward.  I don’t want to think too hard about this.  About any of it.  I take a deep breath, and move backward on his bed, getting comfortable against his pillows.

“Do you have the script yet? For your play?” I ask.  He turns and smiles, then stands up quickly.

“I do. Do you want to see?” He sets his wine down, and starts shuffling around the room, digging through his bags as he mumbles softly to himself.  I watch him, feeling my stomach in my throat.  What would it be like to spend every evening like this? Drinking wine together, talking about things that mean something to us, Tom bumbling around the bedroom searching for things he misplaced…

I can’t think of that.  Not now.  It’s a fantasy, and not even a very realistic one. We’d rarely have evenings like this.  He’s never around.  It’d probably be more like a text, or a phone call and a cold empty bed.  Which, isn’t much different from what I have now.  Except…I’d have Tom.  He may not be there with me, all the time, but I’d have him.  I’d know he was mine.

What a terrible, hopeless thing to think. 

I glance at my glass, wondering if I’ve had more to drink than I thought.  Nope, still mostly full.

“They’re here somewhere.” Tom murmurs, breaking my train of thought. 

“Will you get in trouble for showing me?” I ask, scooting back so I’m a bit more comfortable. I wonder if I should get up and move to the chair in the corner, but it would seem to obvious if I did.  It feels wrong to be so comfy on his bed. 

Tom looks up from his bag, pulling out some rather hefty looking scripts.

“It’s a 400 year old text.” He deadpans. “I don’t think it’s a secret.”

“Excuse me.” I say with a sniff, and he smiles widely at me. 

“I could get in trouble, but you’ll keep your mouth shut, right darling?” He raises an eyebrow, handing me the large stack of paper.  I nod.

“Of course.  But what if I don’t?” I say absently, looking at the plain cover with the simple word “Coriolanus. William Shakespeare.” on the front.

“Then I’ll keep it shut for you.” He leans in, whispering into my ear as he slides next to me on the bed.  I tense, and then shove him over with my shoulder.

“This is intense.” I ignore him as I flip idly through the lengthy text.  He’s highlighted a lot of things—all his speaking parts, and there’s a bunch of notes written in the margin in his scrawling handwriting.

“As familiar as I am with his works, I wasn’t all that familiar with this one.  So I’ve spent a lot of time picking through this piece.  We don’t start really working on it until mid year, but I’m so excited.” His eyes light up, and I can’t help but smile.

“Read some of it to me?” I ask, handing him back the text.  Tom purses his mouth thoughtfully for a moment, before nodding and looking down.  He flips through for a moment, before coming to a long section of dialogue.  It looks to be a monologue for his character.  He points to the text and then hands the packet back to me.

“I talk of you: why did you wish me milder? Would you have me false to my nature? Rather say I play the man I am.” He starts reciting, his tones intense but hushed, so he doesn’t wake up anyone.  He speaks for a few minutes, and I leave the script sitting on the side of the bed, immersed in his voice.

“That’s beautiful.” I say softly.  Tom laughs and leans back on the bed.  I watch him, noticing the length of his abdomen, the way his sweats sit on his lean waist, his tshirt flush against his skin.

“He’s being exiled.” Tom points out. “He’s saying goodbye to his family. To the city that has turned it’s back on him.”

“Well, the way you speak is beautiful.  I could listen to that all night.” I say and then immediately regret it.  “all night” infers something.  Something else.

“So if you’re staying at Cleredon House, you’ll be in London for the play?” He asks, changing the subject.  I turn, moving to a more comfortable position.  I sit with my legs crossed, facing him.  Tom reaches over, idly pulling at a loose thread on my sweater.  He’s always seems to be moving, touching things.

“Perhaps.” I give him a little smile.

“I’ll get you tickets. If you want.” He says, suddenly looking a bit bashful.  I laugh and nod.

“Of course.  They better be good seats.” I swat his hand away, as he keeps trying to tug on the thread at the edge of my sweater. “At least I’ll get _something_ out of this set up.” I say jokingly, though I regret it as soon as I say it.

Tom laughs though, shaking his head at me as he lies back, putting his hands behind his head as he does.  His shirt rides up, revealing a bit of bare skin and stomach.  His skin is milky white, dappled with hair near his belly button and disappearing down under his waistband.  I can see the defined dip by his hips and I look away quickly, trying to remember I shouldn’t be ogling him.  Is he doing this on purpose? Because if so…he’s doing it far too well.

“That’s harsh.” He doesn’t look at me, though he’s still smiling.

“I’m just kidding.”

“I know.” He turns his head and looks at me.  “You’ve not really dated anyone.” He says it simply, gently.  I know he’s not trying to be rude or prying.  The statement is somewhat out of the blue, but honestly, I’m surprised he hasn’t asked this before—at least not in this way.

“Not really, no.”  I sigh, and then toss back the rest of the wine in my glass.  He rolls onto his side, propping up his head with his bent arm and hand.

“Why?”  Good lord, is this an inquisition?

“I don’t mind being alone.” I answer.

“No? Fair enough.” He sighs. “You don’t mind it? You don’t get lonely?” He asks.  I look away. I wish his eyes weren’t so blue, so probing.  Then maybe it would be easier to lie. 

“I do but…I guess I’m used to it. And, well, you can’t be hurt if you’re alone.  I’ve been alone mostly my whole life.  I’m not close to my parents. Don’t know where my mother is.  My father is a mess.  My last relationship was…well, you know.  Sometimes it’s better to be alone.” I’m honest with him, because I don’t really have anything to lose.  And it’ll be Christmas in about 45 minutes. And his room is sort of dark, and cozy. And this wine is making my head feel fuzzy, but mostly it’s him that’s making me feel all fuzzy.

“I hate being alone.” He murmurs, sort of to me, but maybe more to himself.  I ache to touch him.  His face mostly. The sweet, gentle way his cheekbone curves into his cheek, the long, strong column of his neck.  I want to feel the slight stubble on his chin, and brush my fingers against his lips.

But I don’t touch him.  Because it will only lead to one place, and it’s a place I’ve put off limits. Finally.  I’d settle for a hand hold, or maybe a firm pat on the head.  But I know it all leads back to the same place.  The ache, the deep, thunderous yearning for Tom to touch me, and to be able to touch him.

“Tom?” I say his name softly, and he turns his head and looks at me.

“Gracie.” He answers, furrowing his brow and looking sternly at me.  I smile.

“Who is Kelly?” I ask the million dollar question.

“Who is Kelly.  Who…is…Kelly. That’s a good question.  I’d love to know myself.” He laughs and then looks up at the ceiling.  Oh. I’ve hit something here.  Some sort of sore spot.  Tom’s had quite a few girlfriends since I’ve known him.  But they’ve all been passing things.  Blips on some amorphous, foggy trail.

“Who is she?” I push gently. I reach over and touch his side with just my fingers, feeling the warmth of his body through his cotton shirt.  I poke him in the ribs and he laughs, ticklish, then grabs my hand and yanks me toward him.  I could do one of two things in this moment—fall forward against his sturdy looking chest, or brace myself and pull back. I choose the latter, and gently take my hand from his. 

He takes a deep breath, glad for the momentary distraction.

 “Kelly was my fiancé.  We broke up about four years ago.” His voice is soft, and he breaks eye contact as his eyes flicker to my hair, which is a mess around my face.  His words are not surprising, but it is a little bit shocking that he was once engaged.  He’s never mentioned it.  Emily has never mentioned it.

Tom reaches forward, and without warning, he reaches up and tucks a few strands of fallen hair back behind my ear.  His fingers graze by my ear as he does, and I try my best to stay still.  Maybe he’s trying to distract me. It’s working.  He seems to be lost in his own thought as he pushes his hands through my hair, then starts wrapping it around his long fingers, running it through his hands. I can’t help myself, I lean into his hand and he pushes back gently.  His fingers brush against my cheek, and I tilt my head to the side, pressing my lips into his palm and fingertips.  He watches me do this, his eyes serious.  I smile against his fingers and then nip at him.

Tom chuckles and then moves to sit up, pulling his hand away.  I watch him from where I am, lying curled up at the head of his bed amongst all his pillows.

“I didn’t know you’d been engaged.” I frown.  Tom rubs a hand over his face.

“Well, I do try to forget it.” He clears his throat and sits up all the way.  For a moment, I think he’ll get up off the bed, but he just sits like that, turned slightly away from me.  I reach forward, my hand hovering over the flat, wide planes of his back but I don’t touch him.

“What happened?” I ask, pushing forward.  I slide my hand against him.  Tom makes a grunting noise and then shakes his head.

“Ah.” He pushes a hand through his hair, pulling gently.

“You know you’ve got to tell me.” I sit up, sliding up behind him.  I kneel on the bed beside him, my knees bumping into his thigh.  Tom stays still, not speaking. 

“I know practically nothing about you.” I chew nervously on my lower lip.  I want to hug him, or just wrap my arms around him, but he’s shut off from me.  It feels the wrong thing to do, and I know it is.

“That’s not true.” He says softly.   He turns his body toward me, and then suddenly he’s crawling on the bed, making his way toward the pillows.  I sit back, thinking for a second that he’s going to tackle me, but he collapses into the pillows, on his stomach, gripping one under his head.  I swallow hard, put my wine glass on the nightstand and crawl after him.  I slide next to him, turning on my side so we are facing each other.   

“No? I do know you?” I ask, softly.  He nods, but doesn’t say anything.  I look at his face, half hidden by the pillow.  His mouth set in a straight line, one blue eye on me, the other hidden by the pillow. Tom moves his head up and down, just ever so slightly.  We’re quiet for a moment before he speaks.

“You know me really well.” He says softly.  “Better than most.” I can’t help myself.  I reach over, taking his hand, which is moving back and forth across the comforter between us.  I wrap my hand around his, then bring it to his face, touching him.  His skin is soft, warm, and strangely comforting.  His stubble is rough against my palm.  Tom’s hand wraps gently around my wrist, but stays unmoving, letting me just touch the side of his face.  I trace a line, smoothing over his eyebrow, down over his cheek bone and then down the slope of his nose.  His grip tightens, and he moves my hand to his mouth, where he kisses my knuckles.  He opens his eyes then, and places my hand between the two of us on the comforter.

“Kelly and I were together for almost two years.  We met after she’d just gotten out of something.  But we really clicked. I proposed after a year together. She said ‘Yes’.  Turns out she was still in love with her ex.  And she forgot that she had made…promises to me.” He watches me as he speaks, as if waiting for my reaction.  I’m not sure how to react.

“Are you still in love with her?” I ask.  Tom chews on his lower lip, then shakes his head, looking down as he does.

“No. I haven’t been in love with her for a long, long time. My family loved her too.  Mum was sort of devastated by the break up.  But they got over it. I think.” He laughs softly.  Ah, a bit of clarity to the conversation I overheard downstairs.  Mrs. H is still holding onto hope.  The idea sort of makes me sad, but I push the feeling away.

“It’s hard to move on when someone hurts you like that.  I would know.” I whisper.  He looks at me then, his eyes quizzical. 

“We’re better off without them.” He says with a little smile.  I grin and roll onto my back, taking a deep, cleansing breath.

“You can say that again.” I nod. 

“Hey, how about you break out those cookies? I need some sugar after all this serious stuff.” Tom says with a laugh, nudging me in the side.  I grin, reaching over and grabbing the bag from the nightstand.  I rip open the top, handing him two cookies, which he starts in on immediately.  The first cookie is gone in two bites. 

Tom makes some joke about staying in bed the whole holiday, eating cookies and gaining weight until our exes see the error of their ways.  It’s a silly joke, but we both are laughing hysterically.  The kind of laughing where you hold your sides, and find it hard to breathe.

We end up in a pile, my face smashed against his arm, Tom’s breath in my ear as he wheezes with laughter.  I can barely catch my breath.  I shove hard into him, pushing him away as I sit up, trying to take a clear breath. 

We spend the next few hours like that.  Alternating between telling ridiculous jokes, usually at the other person’s expense, and then talking about serious stuff.  Nothing too serious.  Nothing as serious as the fact that Tom used to have a fiancé.  Instead of this endless parade of windmills he calls girlfriends, he at one point, dated someone seriously.  Someone with substance (or so he thought).  A shocking change from what he’s been doing for the last few years.  But I sort of get it.  He’s doing what I’ve been doing.  Healing.  He hates being alone, so he buries his pain in fast, painless relationships.  I bury mine in my loneliness. In being by myself.  We’re completely different, but for some reason, I get it.  And I think he does too. 

And maybe it’s why we end up talking until nearly half past three.  We’ve gone into hushed tones, after we heard Santos and Cillian go to bed, followed closely by Emily and Mark.  Mrs. Hiddleston had said her goodnights long before that.  We chat until our eyes hurt, and we can barely focus.  We talk until Tom starts slurring his words, more from exhaustion than the wine—though I’m sure the wine had something to do with it.  I keep listening to him talk, as his voice is the nicest sound in the world.  I keep listening even when I’ve closed my eyes.  I fall asleep to the sound of his voice, and the last thing I hear him say, I’m pretty sure, is my name.


	28. December 2012: Hazy Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little something special for you guys...

The room is dark when I wake up the next morning. It’s still quite early, and it seems to be a typical English morning—overcast outside, cold and a bit foggy. The light coming through the curtains is bluish gray, casting a dim glow to the room. Tom’s bed is warm, and incredibly cozy. We’re both snuggled under the blankets. I’m lying on my back, nestled in next to Tom. He’s on his stomach, one arm lying heavily over my stomach. I look down, staring at his forearm. In the early morning light, his skin is bluish gray, the light hair dappled across his skin is silvery white.

I lie still, trying to focus in on last night. My mind is still hazy with sleep, and I close my eyes again. It feels nice, more than nice, to sleep next to someone. The fact that it is Tom makes it…better. Hearing his slow breathing, feeling the warmth of his body in the middle of the night. It’s comforting and disarming in a strange way. More intimate than sex. Or at least any sex we’ve had.

Tom stirs next to me, and I hold my breath, not sure that I want him to know I’m awake. He moves, and his arm tightens around me, pulling me toward his side. He makes a soft groaning noise as he holds me. I let him, feeling my chest tighten as I’m tugged into his side. He squeezes me against him, and I’m not totally sure if he’s awake or asleep. I tilt my head toward him, reaching up gently and wrapping my hand around his forearm. His skin is soft, and I brush my fingers slowly over the light hair on his arm. He moves again, and I turn my face toward him. I’m greeted by bright, sky blue eyes, just barely opening through heavy lids.

“Morning.” I whisper, my voice barely audible. He blinks, his lids still lowered, and he leans forward and presses his forehead against mine. Tom moans softly, and I feel the noise go straight to my lower stomach. My thighs clench involuntarily as he splays his big hand over my stomach.

I could be dreaming. I’m not totally sure. I remember my rule I made for myself, and I also remember what I had told Tom months ago. Pineapple. But for some reason, none of that seems to matter. Last night, we’d simply talked and laughed, and then we’d fallen asleep. This morning, it feels different. Maybe it’s the quiet stillness of the house, the soft pillows and blankets piled around us, the soft hazy light filtering in through the windows. Last night was perfect and lovely and so intimate, but it somehow wasn’t enough. I need more than just that—our intimacy seems to overflow into something physical, something tangible. I feel Tom run his hand over my stomach, slow and steady, and I can barely breathe. I don’t stop him because I don’t want to. I want nothing more than to feel his hands on me.

I close my eyes, settling my forehead against his again, letting myself feel only him. His hand slides from my side, across my stomach, and then to my other side. Tiny, slow movements as he lets his hand wander ever so lazily, as if he has all the time in the world. Maybe he does. I have no intention of leaving. I tilt my head back, pressing into the pillows as I feel him slip his hand under my tank top, his warm palm coming in contact with my overheated stomach. I bite my lip, trying to hold in my sighs.

I reach down, wrapping my hands around his wrist, but I don’t stop him. I just hold onto him, gripping his arm as if I’m afraid he’ll stop if I let go. Tom presses his face into my neck, and I feel him kiss a slow line up my throat. I feel as if I’m going to burst into a million pieces, and we’ve barely even moved. There’s an ache pulsing through me like never before, and I can barely keep still as we lay in bed together. I want so badly for him to touch me, to really kiss me, but it’s like a torturous, delicious game. It’s as if I move too much, if I let on just how turned on I am, he’ll stop. So I stay still, muffling my sighs with my bitten lips, and clinging to his arm.

Tom moves his hand up, over my ribs, and I can’t help but cry out, a soft, breathless noise that I didn’t know I had in me. He kisses my jaw and then sucks a spot on my neck, nipping my skin gently as his hand brushes up against the underneath swell of my breast.

A few slow, nearly traumatizing moments later, and his fingers brush against my nipple, which is already hard, swollen and aching for his touch. I whimper softly, and give in to my basest desires, weakly. I roll slowly, closing the slight space between us, pressing my breasts against his chest, and sliding my leg over his. I moan softly when I feel how hard he is, already, the evidence that he’s just as turned on as I am is obvious now. Tom groans, his hips moving to press against mine with one fluid, confident thrust toward me.

He moves me backwards, more onto my back, and I feel the hot, hard warmth of his body slide over mine. His weight on top of me is comforting and thrilling all at once, and I have this strange instinct for more. More of him, covering me, absorbing me. Tom braces himself with his forearms, as if afraid of crushing me—god, but if he would. I pull on him shoulders, making him come closer, and then his mouth is against mine. His kiss is soft, gentle but it robs me of my breath. It’s all encompassing. I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him to me. My legs slide against his, and then I press my hips up, meeting his. He’s so hard, it’s almost painful, and he rocks against me once, twice, and then I’m shaking.

“You were just supposed to be a one night stand.” I whisper, my voice is shaking and betraying me.

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow and rolls his hips against me. “How’s that working out for you?” He asks, his voice low and rough. “God, what do you do to me?” He whispers into my jaw, and then he’s kissing his way down my throat as he pushed my tank top down, exposing my breasts. I don’t know how to answer at first, I’m not sure he’s looking for an answer.

“I just can’t…stop.” I say breathlessly, as his hands come up, both cupping my breasts and pushing them together. His hands are so big they can nearly cover me completely.

“Please, don’t stop.” I add. His mouth moves from one nipple to the other, his fingers caressing my flesh wherever his mouth cannot be. I push my hands through his already sleep messed hair, grabbing handfuls and tugging gently. Tom keeps kissing, then moves down my body.

“Tom.” I breathe. I have to say his name, it’s impossible not to. He smiles and shushes me, looking up and putting a finger to his lips. I smile, pressing back into the pillows as he kissed down my stomach and then nudges my thighs open. He groans heavily as he reaches down, pushing my panties to the side as he presses his mouth against me. I feel his lips first, and then the sure, wet, knee shaking stroke of his tongue.

I cry out, and then throw my hand over my mouth, masking my cries. I feel him chuckle at my reaction, his breath hot against my thighs. I squeeze my legs against the sides of his head and then relax, opening up for him. Tom dips his head lower again, and his hand moves up, squeezing my thighs and then slipping between them.

“Please. Please.” I whisper, my voice coming out in ragged gasps.

“You’re going to wake the whole house.” He laughs, stopping.

“I don’t care. Don’t stop.” I say with a giggle, shaking my head back in forth. I feel lightheaded. He lowers his head again, and I feel the rumble of his satisfaction—the hum of his groan against my sensitive skin, as he moves his tongue in expert, slow then fast licks. It doesn’t take long, in fact he’s only there for what seems like a few more seconds before my orgasm nearly rips through me. It surprises me, the build up is fast and then all consuming. My legs tighten around him, my back arches, and my toes curl against the blankets. Tom reaches up, grasping one of my breasts as I come, holding my hips to his face with his other hand as I shake.

I’m whimpering, moaning softly as I still feel the waves roll through me, even after he’s left, his mouth against my thighs and then up my stomach. He still has one hand between my thighs, touching me, rubbing against my tender, sensitive flesh.

"Shh..." Tom says breathlessly with a laugh. I shake my head back and forth, turning my face to the side to grab the blanket between my teeth to muffle my cries.

"I can't..." I sigh, as I feel his mouth cover my nipple.  Tom laughs again, and then snakes a hand up my stomach, over my breast and up my neck, then covers my mouth with his big hand.

“Shh…” He says again, and I feel his erection against me. We both still, though I’m still panting slowly. He keeps his hand pressed against my mouth as he slides into me. It is a delicious torture, and he seems to nearly lose control as he does it. Tom lowers his forehead against mine, his breath tense. I moan against his hand, then bite his fingers, wrapping my legs around his hips and forcing him to go deeper, faster.

Tom braces himself on either side of me, coming up on his arms as he moves his hips against mine. I reach for him, dragging his mouth to mine, grabbing his ass and pulling him into me.

“Take me. I need all of you.” I beg, the words coming from out of nowhere. Tom kisses me again, his muscles bunching as he drives into me. He’s watching me as I come undone underneath him. He has this way about him, the intensity in which he looks at you, as if you are the only thing that ever existed—ever mattered to him. I could stay like this forever.

He gathers me in his arms and then buries his face in my neck, as I feel the powerful strength in his thighs and hips. He growls softly against me and slows down.

“I want you on top. I want to be able to see you shake when you come.” He is out of breath, but not from exertion—from excitement. I nod, but I don’t say anything but I can’t form words at the moment. With my approval, Tom rolls us both, until I’m on top, never separating from him.

I sit up, arching slightly, and taking his hands in mine. I guide him up, over my stomach and then cup his hands around my breasts as I move with him. I move my hips, and the sensations are overwhelming. I steady myself against Tom’s chest, meeting his eyes. His blue eyes are stormy, nearly a blue gray as he watches me.

“You are so beautiful. How did I get so lucky?” Tom says, his eyelids lowered, his jaw set.   Despite the fact that I’m naked, writhing on top of him, it is his words that make me blush. I can feel the pleasure sparking through me, and I grab his hand and press it over my mouth, kissing his palm and then sliding his fingers into my mouth. I suck his fingers, taking them deep into my mouth as I slide up and down against him. It’s Tom’s turn to groan, and he runs his free hand up and down my bare skin, then grabs onto my hips. He slides his hand around, pressing his thumb into my clit as I ride him.

“Tom. Oh, god.” I cry, my voice a hoarse whisper as he pulls his fingers from my mouth and covers it with his palm. A few seconds more, and I’m grinding against him, oblivious to everything. I can’t hold myself up, and I fold forward against him as everything pulses and trembles. Tom grabs hold of me, pulling me down against his chest and wrapping his arms tight around my shaking body. He drives up into me, holding my hips still as he surges against me.

He says my name once, twice, and then I feel him come into me. He’s shaking as well, and the power of him is like an electrical surge that rushes through my already sensitive body. I clench around him, holding onto him for all he has. It’s not something I can control, but my whole body tightens, and I bury my face into his shoulder, and my thighs around his. Tom makes these rough groans and then his arms gather me close, and he rolls us both onto our sides, tucking me against him.

We’re quiet for some time. Our breathing goes from erratic, out of control until slowed down and normal, in sync with one another. Tom strokes my arms and my back, moving his hands idly against my skin. I’m so relaxed and sleepy, that I’m nearly sure I’ve died and gone to heaven.

“If we were at my flat right now, I’d make you breakfast in bed.” His voice is so quiet. I keep my eyes closed, smiling.

“What would you make me?” I reply softly.

“Hmm…whatever you’d like. But I make fantastic scrambled eggs. And bacon. And perhaps some fruit. Strawberries?” He shifts and groans softly.

“That sounds so good.” I sigh. “You could still go downstairs and make that for me. Go, quick!” I laugh. He does as well, as we both know his mum is probably waking soon, along with the rest of the house.

“When do you leave?” He asks after a moment. I look up at him, resting my chin against his chest. He brushes my messy hair from my face.

“Tomorrow morning. Work.” I say softly, suddenly regretting the fact that I said I would go into Cleredon. It’s actually a rather busy time for tourism, and I didn’t think I would actually want to stick around Sandbanks. I had thought this holiday would have gone in an entirely different direction.

“So soon.” He says softly, sighing. I kiss his chest, dotting his skin with my kisses.

“When do you leave?” I lick one of his nipples, and he laughs.

“I leave Sandbanks the day after New years. I’m going to America for three months.” He says this softly, and I feel something in my chest clench painfully.

“Oh?” I try to keep my voice neutral.

“I’ll be in Los Angeles for three weeks, then I’ll be back home for a few days. But then back to California—but in San Diego.” He swallows, and reaches for me, running his finger gently down the slope of my nose. I close my eyes, and if I were a cat, I’d be purring.

“Always on the go.” I smile, though if I opened my eyes he would see it didn’t quite reach there. Tom clears his throat and then leans down, lifting my face so he can kiss me. His kiss is soft, gentle and sweet.

“Maybe when I’m back in London, I can come see you. We can make plans of it.” He asks, his voice a bit hesitant as if he’s unsure. I open my eyes, and then lift myself up slightly to my elbows.

“Sure.” I nod. “That would be nice.”

“I could call you, while I’m in LA. If it’s alright with you.” He swallows and shifts in bed, tilting his head to the side. I’ve never seen him act quite like this, and it’s funny, and endearing. He seems nervous. I’d be lying if I didn’t say my heart was beating a bit faster than normal.

“Call me. Yes.”I nod. He smiles and kisses me again.

“I won’t be a psycho about it. I know you like your space. I’ll just call you when…you know, I wake up. And again when I have breakfast. Maybe after my morning run, and then again before lunch.” He laughs and I do too. What is happening?

“Then before dinner, and right before bed?” I grin, and giggle. I can’t help it.

“Definitely before bed.” He says, a gleam in his eye. I laugh and cup his face in my hands, bringing him down to me for a kiss.

“I’d like that.” I nod, speaking against his lips. Tom grins and then kisses me, before pushing me onto my back and silently requesting that we go for a second round.


	29. January 2013: Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A/N: It's not a lot...but it's what I've got for now! :) Also, I made up the names of the castles in this chap, so sorry I suck at all that jazz.

  
  


I’m staring blankly out the window in front of my desk. Out over the lovely English countryside, but nothing’s really registering. It’s all a blur to me. The misty, gray green grass and the sloping grounds of Cleredon House, just screaming for Mr. Darcy to come stalking down the estate.

But it’s not Mr. Darcy on my mind. Not at all.

“Gracie.” Mary’s voice brings me out of my reverie, and I turn quickly to face where she’s sitting just across the room. She’s staring at me, an amused look on her face.

“Hi.” I say dumbly, feeling my cheeks flush, knowing I’ve been caught daydreaming.

“You were a thousand miles away.” She grins, looking more delighted than annoyed. I roll my eyes and laugh.

“Not quite that far.” I sigh. Just a few hundred. She raises an eyebrow at me and then sits back in her chair, crossing her arms.

“It was that good, eh? Your holiday.” She has been bugging me all day to give her details about Christmas, but I have refused anything other than it being ‘pleasant’. I can’t quite talk about it. It still doesn’t feel totally real to me.

“Mary.” I sigh, but I can’t help but smile.

“Ohhh, you! You’re getting on with that Tom, aren’t you?” She sits up, then stands and comes around to my desk, leaning against the edge of it. I press my hands to my face, shaking my head. I feel like I can’t talk about it. It’s too soon. I don’t even know what it is. All I do know is, it was terribly hard to leave Sandbanks on the day after Christmas, knowing that Tom would be there for another few days. Santos had been equally upset I was leaving, but I couldn’t leave Mary alone at Cleredon to fend off the holiday crowds.

“We spent the night together. It was…” I drift off.   Mary looks at me with moony eyes, her mind wandering to similar places as mine, I’m sure.

“You’d never spent the night together? Is he the type to leave right after? Or, no, that would be you.” She says, tilting her head teasingly. I scoff at her and grin.

“No, we have. But there was just something different about this time.”

“It’s about time. You’ve two have been playing around for awhile, right?” She asks. I shrug.

“I’ve known him about two years. Things have changed, I guess.” I glance at my phone, and see it light up. He’s been texting me ever since I left. From the moment I stepped on to the ferry, to today—just a few days after New Years. I had spent my New Years with Mary at the pub near my flat. I received, mere moments after midnight, a series of texts from Tom and Santos, who were still together with Tom’s family at the beach house.

The first photo was Tom pouting, with “Happy New Years from lonely kiss-less Tom.”

The second photo was Tom, smushed between Santos and Cillian. Cillian was kissing Tom on the cheek and Santos had his tongue out mere inches from Tom’s face. “Since you’re not here, I’ve decided to try an alternate lifestyle.” This one made me laugh until I was nearly crying. It was now the background photo on my phone.

The third photo was everyone still at Sandbanks, crowded into one photo. Tom was in the middle, Santos and Cillian still smushed at his sides. Mrs. Hiddleston’s head is poking from behind them. Mark’s chin and chest is visible next to her, and just the side of Emily’s head appears next to his chest. “Miss you!” Tom had texted. I’d felt my cold, lumpy little heart squeeze tight, and despite spending my New Years in a crowded pub full of strangers, it was one of the better ones.

“Tell me about your trip. How was ex-hubs?” I change the subject, tucking my phone discreetly into my desk drawer, though Mary’s eyes follow my movements. She knows I am skirting the issue, but she lets it slide.

“It was the same as always. The ex in-laws got rip roaring drunk. I shagged ex-hubby in the broom closet. Then I got pissed as well.” She laughs and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Really? You still sleep with your ex?” I ask, not wanting to sound judgmental. I was just curious as to how that worked. I know that they have a complicated relationship, but Mary only talks about him when absolutely necessary.

“Yeah. We didn’t work as a couple, but we can’t deny that the physical stuff is still there. Sometimes that’s all it is, ya know? A physical thing. An _itch_. Doesn’t always go away. As long as we understand it, that’s all that really matters.” She shrugs indifferently, and I let her words sink in for a moment.

“Speaking of physical connections…” She takes a deep breath. I wait nervously. “Would you like to go to on a wee trip for me?” Mary smiles at me sweetly, and I frown.

“Why do I feel like I’m being set up for something?” I say with a laugh, resting my head on my hand. She sighs heavily and groans, her hands coming up in a defeated way.

“Well, because you are. Sort of. Just hear me out, please.” She turns. “Cleredon House works with a few other sites, you know this. We don’t often need to do much, but sometimes we’re called on for special curation. There’s a location scout looking into Alwinton Castle in Northumberland. I know the manager at Alwinton. He’s requested one of us accompany the scout. They’re also interested in Cleredon. Normally I’d do it, as I’ve done it many times before. It’s quite easy and not until the summer. And you get loads of special travel overtime, though it’ll only take you about three days. But…I’ve seemed to have gotten myself into a uh, sticky spot with Bernard, the manager there…”

I turn and give Mary a pointed stare.

“Broom closet?” I clear my throat.

“No, the Lord’s chamber…” She let out a giggle, which made me laugh as well.

“You’re a mess, Mary Heath.” I punch her lightly on the hip, as she stands up, laughing.

“He just knew so much about 13th century architecture…I was…overcome!” She starts laughing harder, holding her sides. I shake my head, joining in with her laughter.

“I’ll do it.” I shrug good naturedly. It wasn’t as if I had anything else to do. A quick trip later in the year to Northumberland would be fun, and a good change of scenery. Castles like Alwinton were mostly closed to the public, so on the occasion that someone was interested in seeing them, they had to do so under special circumstances.

“Thank you, darling.” She giggles and looks relieved. We both start when my phone started to rattle and buzz inside my desk drawer.

“Ah, is that Romeo now?” She raises an eyebrow as I hastily yank open my drawer.

“No, not quite.” I laugh, showing her Santo’s photo as it pops up on my screen. Mary shrugs and then makes her way back to her desk.

“ _A_ Romeo, just not yours.” She murmurs softly as she sits down, giving me some privacy. I scrunch my nose at her, and then answer the call.

“Darling.” I coo into the phone.

“Sweet bum.” Santos coos back. “Listen, I’m only in London until early tomorrow morning. Come meet me for lunch. Cillian is working, so it’s just us.” He demands, leaving me little room for any options but ‘Yes’.

“I’m working, Santos.”

“Yes, but I know you can leave. Tell Mary I say hello and she looks gorgeous today. Love what she did with her hair.” He says quickly, and I can’t help but laugh despite myself and his ridiculousness. “I’ll meet you at Gilly’s in an hour. Bye love!” He hangs up, and I am left staring at my phone.

“Just take half a day. I won’t tell.” Mary pipes in from across the room. I peak at her over my shoulder, and I see her eyes just over her computer monitor. “And he’s right, my hair does look fantastic today.”

“Thanks.” I grin and start gathering my things.

**** 

Santos is already at a table when I get to Gilly’s. He’s inside at a corner table, a pair of Ray Bans resting on the table top. He’s wearing tailored brown trousers with a fitted sweater over a chambray shirt and what looks like some sort of bow tie. He’s drinking beer, and has ordered one for me as well.

“There she is. My working girl.” He stands up and yanks me into a hug as I walk up to the table. I squeeze him and then pat him on the butt.

“Hi. How are you?” We sit down, and Santos smiles at me then nods toward our drinks. We both drink and I sit back, sighing softly. A drinking lunch. Nothing better.

“I’m great. But let’s not talk about me. I’m so borrringgg.” He says in a sing song voice. I feel heat rush to my face and I press one hand to my mouth. He looks at me quickly, his eyes focused on my face.

“You get right to the point.”

“We’re not getting any younger. Are you and Tom an item? Or was he just texting you all week for his health?” Santos grins at me. I shift in my chair.

“We haven’t talked about it. I don’t know.” I look at him, and I know I won’t be able to lie. Not to him.

“That’s because you have no emotions or feelings.” Santos groans, as our waiter comes over. He looks up and smiles, orders us both salads and burgers and then turns back to me.

“Hey!” I protest his ordering for me. He shrugs.

“It’s what you would have ordered anyway.” He raises an eyebrow and challenges me. I laugh and roll my eyes.

“Ok. Fine.”

“I wish you could have stayed. It was a fantastic time. Cillian got so drunk on New Years Eve, he went streaking around the beach house. He pretended that we dared him, but really it was all his idea. He’s an exhibitionist, that one. Mrs. H almost cracked a rib she was laughing so hard.”

I laugh, throwing my head back as I imagined a naked Cillian squealing as he dashed around outside in the English seaside cold.

“I wish I could have stayed as well.” I nod, tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Tom is absolutely smitten with you. You know that right?” Santos gives me a serious look and then is quiet, while I mull this over. Tom. Smitten. With me.

“He hasn’t said as much but, we’ve been talking a lot. We had a really good night together. It felt…different. It felt real.” I look up at Santos, who is a little misty eyed. “Does that make sense?” I ask, feeling suddenly self conscious. Santos immediately starts nodding.

“It does. You guys bonded. But you did shag him, right?” He wiggles his eyebrows and I am sure I turn bright red. I don’t answer, which is enough of an answer for Santos. “So what’s next?” He asks. I shrug and take a long drink from my beer. It’s cold and hoppy, and tastes wonderful.

“I’m not sure. We hardly had time to talk about it. He’s away for work now. But he’ll be back mid February for a few days. He’s promised to see me then.” There were no concrete plans, but there had definitely been mentions of it. It is strange to talk about Tom like this. To think about making plans with him, and having him be a more constant part of my life. It feels strange and scary and exciting all at once.

“I see a Spring wedding. Something simple, classy and elegant but a bit playful. You’ll look amazing in a lace Monique Lhuillier. Tom will be in Armani or McQueen. Or maybe he’ll go traditional. We’ll talk about it. Iron out all the details.” Santos pokes at me and I grin but then roll my eyes.

“One day at a time, please.” I groan.

“This is a good thing. You know that, right?” Santos says quietly. He leans forward at the table and waits. “You’ve got to give him a chance. Not everyone leaves, Gracie girl. And not everyone will let you down. I’ve learned that. It’s taken awhile, but I’ve learned that. I wish you could too.” He’s being serious, and I can tell he means what he says. The past few months, with Cillian, have had their effect on him. I nod at Santos, and feel a strange, quick tightening in my chest.

“I know. And I’m trying. I am. I don’t have any other choice at this point.” I say softly, looking up and meeting’s Santo’s warm eyes. “I really… I really care about him.” Saying out loud makes it more real. Santos gives me a small smile.

“It makes me really happy to hear you say that.” He reaches forward and takes my hand. I feel the next words swell in my throat, and before I can stop them, they are coming out of my mouth.

“I think I might be in love with him, Santos. Am I crazy?” It’s something I’ve hardly admitted to myself, let alone another person. I’m just as shocked as Santos, but he hides it better.

“You should probably be telling him this, lovey. Not me.” He grins and looks triumphant. “And no, you’re not crazy. Or at least not in the way you think.” There is nothing better than seeing your best friend in love, and he looks absolutely thrilled. I grin and shake my head, looking away.

“I will. I will. When I…figure it all out. I just…don’t want to scare him away.” I know it is far too soon to be dropping that sort of nonsense on Tom. But knowing how I feel, and understanding it, makes me feel much more at ease than I’ve ever felt when it comes to him. I feel lighter, and yet fuller at the same time.

“We should probably celebrate. Because I think the world is about to end. Is it too early for shots?” Santos laughs and starts looking for our waiter. I smack him, but our laughter is loud enough that it echoes through the small restaurant.

**** 

 

I’m lying in bed, panting slightly. My face is flushed, and I’m warm all over. I can feel my heart pounding against my chest, my thoughts blurred and light. I must have moved around enough that I’ve kicked half the covers off the bed. I moan softly, my face half buried in the pillows. It takes me a few moments, but then I hear him.

“Are you there still? Did you pass out?” His voice in my ear. I grip my phone tighter, lick my lips and giggle, my voice husky and rough around the edges.

“I’m here. Where else would I be?” I whisper. Tom groans softly, and his voice sends a shiver down my still shaking body.

“There is nothing sexier in the world than hearing you moan.” He says, his voice lowering. I grin and blush, despite myself.

“Shush.” I whisper.

“It’s true. It would only be sexier if I was there to make you moan.” He rumbles. I groan softly, and slide onto my side, reaching down and yanking my duvet up and over me. My thighs are still humming, and I feel relaxed and flush with the lingering effects of a spectacular orgasm. It would be better if he were here. Of course it would. But his voice is enough, and I swear, I could practically feel his hands on me a moment ago. He can be very…very descriptive. The man has an imagination, that’s for sure.

“I wish you were here.” I say softly, closing my eyes. We’ve been doing this now for over a month. Texting. Chats on the phone usually every couple of days. We haven’t put a label on it, we haven’t really discussed it. It’s just been organic, happening naturally and on it’s own. And it’s definitely different than ever before.

I haven’t worked up the nerve to tell him. Not everything. But I’m getting there. And perhaps soon, when I see him in person, I’ll be able to find the courage to bare it all.

“I wish _you_ were here.” He says cheekily, laughing softly. I groan and pull the blankets around me. We’ve both been busy, working late hours. His hours are often longer, and quite different than mine. It’s hard to keep track of what he’s doing and when, but he’s always been great at getting back to me in a good amount of time. I try not to bother him too much with silly things, but he never seems to mind when I do. And sometimes I’ll wake up to a detailed description of his day, what he ate and did, and who he talked to, and then an apology for being so long winded. It’s adorable, really, and I relish it.

“Soon.” I say softly. He’s scheduled to fly in just before Valentine’s Day, which is only about two weeks away. We both know we’ll see each other, but neither of us have recognized that holiday. It’s not really necessary. And the added pressure seems pointless.

“About that, Gracie.” He suddenly gets serious, his voice hesitant. I open my eyes, waiting.

“Yeah?”

“I just found out before I called you tonight. They’re scheduling reshoots. I don’t think I’ll make it back. There’s no point in me coming home to London for two nights, and then flying back to California. They’re scheduling me for three reshoots.” He sounds disappointed, and worried. I’d be lying if I didn’t feel the drop in my stomach, the disappointment and frustration welling quickly.

“Oh, that’s…” I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to stress him out or make him feel bad. But I’m suddenly at a loss for words. I went from an extremely lovely high, to a quick push back into cold reality.

“I’m sorry. I am. I feel bloody terrible.” And he does sound it. I brighten up and swallow hard, clearing my throat.

“It’ll be alright. We’ll figure something out.” I manage quickly. Tom lets out a small, relieved laugh.

“You’re a good sport, you know.” He says gently.

“I know.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He adds. I nod, knowing he can’t see me, but hanging onto his words.

“If I were there right now, I’d be kissing your neck, and burying myself between those luscious thighs of yours.” He says this with quite a lot of conviction, a low growl in his voice, that I quickly forget he just told me that I wouldn’t see him for another few months, at least.

“Tell me, what else would you be doing?” I roll back onto my back, my hand on my thigh. Tom starts talking again, alternating between making me giggle and making me sigh. But I can’t quite totally forget that I’m alone, in bed. And he’s halfway across the world, alone in his.

 


	30. February 2013: Uneventful

Valentine’s Day. Who needs it? Not me.

I duck my head as I walk as fast as possible to the coffee shop, which is only about a block from my flat. I go there pretty often, as I’m in love with their scones and they always have comfy little spots to sit. I usually go on my way to work, and I almost always stop in at least once on the weekends. It seemed like a good idea when I woke up. Brush off the cobwebs, and the slight “woe is me” feeling on this horrid holiday, with a fancy coffee drink and a scone. I could sit in the shop, look out the window and people watch. I could smile brightly, and look perfectly happy and content to be there alone, watching all the other lovely couples canoodle down the sidewalk.

But then I stepped outside, and it nearly felt like it was sub zero temperatures. And the wind was blowing hard, making my eyes water. And the sight of couples in love made me feel a bit like gagging. Either way, I hurried onward. What else was I going to do with my free Saturday? I had made sure to be off weeks ago, thinking Tom would be in town, but now he was filming still, thousands of miles away and I suddenly had a whole day that was empty and open.

Coffee. Angry people watching. Maybe a movie—something bloody and violent, not romantic, and then take out. Chinese. No, perhaps curry.

After I get my coffee and a scone, I settle in at one of the seats near the window. I don’t want to see all the lovey dovey couples, but I’m also a bit of a masochist, so I turn slightly to look outside.

Tom had called me late last night, having just gotten off of work. It was mid afternoon where he was, but he was exhausted from shooting all day. We hadn’t talked long. He’d been tired and leaving the set, and I’d been half asleep.

“I hope you have a good day tomorrow. I’ll be thinking about you.” He said easily. I smiled, closing my eyes.

“Get some sleep.”

“With you, I wish.” He chuckled softly.

“Mmm.” I moaned softly in agreement.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” He asked.

“Not much really. Coffee, maybe a movie. In bed early.” I sighed. He laughed in reply, as it wasn’t much different than a normal day for me. We spoke for a few minutes more, before he apologized and said he needed to go get some rest. It was how many of our conversations went. Like two ships passing in the night. I didn’t mind it though.

It’s warm in the shop, and comfortably busy. Enough people to be interesting, but not packed or crowded. I get comfortable, drinking idly and nibbling on my breakfast. I count three couples holding hands. Four couples kiss. One couple glaring angrily at each other. And one couple who are perhaps still getting to know each other. Maybe not on a first date, but definitely one of the early ones. I smile to myself and wonder where Tom and I would fall, if he were here.

We’ve still not really discussed it. He’s not dating anyone, I know that for a fact. And I’m not. Of course not. We talk daily, even if it’s just a text message to say hello. But I haven’t seen him in nearly two months, and I can practically feel the ache in my bones when I hear his voice. It didn’t used to feel like this. I used to go for huge, long periods of time without seeing him. He’d pass through my mind like clouds through the sky, and then I’d go on with my day. Now, I find myself thinking of him more often than not.

I’d like to think that if he were here now, he’d be sitting next to me, drinking his tea and trying to convince me to buy him another cookie. Or maybe we wouldn’t even be here. Maybe we’d still be home, in my tiny flat, intertwined together in bed. Yes, ah. That’s more like it.

I spend a good twenty minutes or so enjoying my coffee, and finishing my pastry. Santos starts texting me Valentine’s Day greetings, which make me smile. I decide to head back to my apartment, and maybe rent a movie as opposed to going out to see one. The hermit in me is dying to stay cozy inside the rest of the day.

Just as I go to throw away my trash, a man catches my eye as he comes striding through the front door of the café. I feel a bit as if I’ve seen a ghost. I feel it straight to my bones, and I can’t help but freeze, watching him.

The dark eyes and hair. A neatly trimmed beard. He’s wearing a wool pea coat, with the collar upturned from the cold London air. And when he turns toward the front counter, our eyes meet immediately.

“Gracie.” Richard hardly falters. I blink and then pull myself from my shock.

“Hi. Richard.” I say. My first instinct is to run. Maybe kick him in the shins and then run, but I don’t. He turns toward me, now looking pleased to see me.

“You look lovely. It’s been quite awhile, hasn’t it?” He asks. He steps out of line and walks toward me, stopping a few feet in front of me. Up close I can see how little he has changed. Chocolate brown eyes, and dark wavy hair. He’s dressed formally in a dress shirt and tie under his winter coat.

“Yes. What are you doing in London?” I feel my heart thumping in my chest, feeling out of sorts seeing him here. I feel nothing for him, but it’s still rather jarring to run into him. Especially since there’s thousands of miles and an entire ocean set between where I am and where he should be.

“Holiday. Just for the weekend, really. Wow, you look fantastic.” He breathes softly and smiles at me. I chew nervously on my lip and then look down, grabbing my coat from the back of the chair I’d been sitting in.

“Thank you.” I nod.

“Are you leaving? Please, let me buy you a drink. I’d love to catch up, if you have the time. What are the odds?” He laughs affably and holds his hands out, as if it is extraordinary that we’ve bumped into each other. I suppose it is extraordinary, but it’s also not something I’d ever choose. And I don’t feel the need to prolong it.

“No, thank you, I’m....late…” I trail off, gesturing toward the door. Richard frowns, putting his hands together in a pleading motion.

“Please, Gracie. Just a few minutes? Do you still drink lattes? Extra foam?” He asks as he steps up toward the counter. That was what I had just been drinking. I shake my head.

“No.”

“Oh? What is it then?” His brow furrows and he waits for me.

“Just a coffee. Black.” I say quickly. He nods and makes an approving face and then orders both of our drinks. Maybe it is morbid curiosity. Maybe it’s something else. But I don’t leave. I stay. I stay because I don’t really have much else to run off to, and I stay because I figure that fifteen minutes can’t do any harm.

 

**** 

The fifteen minutes turns into twenty, and then nearly thirty. Richard is surprisingly genial, and very animated as he speaks. He reminds me of the Richard I first met, back in college. Excitable, but well spoken. Intelligent, bright and self effacing. And as he tries to catch me up quickly on what he’s being doing for the past two years, I can’t help but notice that he’s not wearing a wedding ring.

I don’t speak much. I nod mostly, and let him do the talking. He’s not with the museum anymore. He’s with a pharmaceutical company, which has offices all over. One in New York, one in London, one in Los Angeles. He came to London for work, but then stayed for a bit of a holiday. He’s obviously doing well for himself, judging by his clothing and the way he talks about his job.

“You know, it’s great to see you. I just…” Richard sits forward in his chair. We’ve taken a little table by the front windows. It’s cold and windy out, but the sun is surprisingly bright and cheerful.

“You what?” I ask, prodding him on.

“I’ve just always felt terrible about how things played out. Between us.” He looks at me, his eyes seem sincere. I press my lips together, trying very hard to not let those old, scarred over wounds reopen.

“Let’s not do this, Richard. I should go.” I nod quickly, and move to leave. Richard reaches for, his hand grabbing mine quickly.

“Please. Let me just apologize.” He asks. I freeze, sigh and then plop back down.

“Richard, you know how terribly you hurt me. It took me quite a long time to get over it. I don’t really want to sit here, rehashing it all like it was a grand ‘ol time. I’ve moved on. You’ve moved on. What’s the point?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. He sighs heavily and shakes his head, then runs a hand over his face, smoothing over his beard. He looks distressed, and I am finding it hard to care.

“I never felt right about how I treated you. I’m just really terribly sorry.” He looks at me with big, heavy eyes. I nod.

“Thank you. Apology accepted.” I say. I still feel nothing. His apology is two years too late. I don’t hate him anymore. I don’t even really dislike him. I just feel nothing for him. It’s as if he’s a total stranger, because he really is. It is quite liberating, and at the same time, terrifying. I feel nothing for Richard because…well, my feelings are completely and entirely wrapped up with someone else at the moment. And I don’t see that changing for quite some time. Or perhaps ever.

“Are you seeing anyone?” He asks suddenly. I’m not sure I want to answer. I don’t really see how it’s any of his business.

“I am. Tom. You met him at the museum event awhile ago.” I say quietly. He frowns and then seems to remember him, realization crossing over Richard’s dark features.

“Ah. Yes. The actor.” He raises an eyebrow, and I make no indication. I don’t want to talk about Tom with Richard. They don’t exist in the same world to me.

“How is Carmen?” I ask, throwing him a bone. Richard nods and rubs his hands together, slowly, as if he has to think about this question.

“Carmen is great. She’s back in DC as we speak.” He smiles at me, and for a second I think to mention his missing ring, but I don’t.

“That’s great. It’s been good catching up, Richard. But I need to go.” I say quietly. He nods, and then tilts his head, looking thoughtful.

“I’m here until Monday. Would you get lunch with me? I know you aren’t particularly…excited to see me, but…I don’t know. I feel like I’d just really like to take you to lunch.” Richard stands as I do, and I am saying ‘No’ before I even have to think about his question.

“Sorry, I’ve plans on Monday.” I shake my head and look up at him with a brisk smile. It’s not a lie, either. I’ve already made plans to see Emily, who is in town after a rather long holiday with Mark in Scotland. We’re meeting to discuss more wedding plans.

“Ah, well.” Richard nods, looking disappointed. “Are you going home? We could share a cab.” He gestures outside. The man does not take a hint!

“I walked. It’s only about two blocks.” I pull on my coat, which Richard immediately tries to help me with, taking it by the shoulders and sliding it behind me. I let him, despite not really wanting him to touch me, and I quickly button everything up, bracing for the outdoors.

“Gracie.” He says quietly, his voice downtrodden and regretful. I take a deep breath and pause, looking at him.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry, I really am. Can I walk you home? Please? And then you’ll never have to see my bloody face again.” He laughs and I roll my eyes. I know he’s harmless, and just has a serious case of guilt, so I shrug quickly and gesture toward the door.

“Let’s go then.” I say softly.

The walk back is quick. I keep the pace fast, not just because I want to get it over with but also because it is still cold out. We don’t talk much as we walk. Richard can tell I don’t really want to be there with him, but he’s still keeping up with me.

It is strange to be near him again. Especially in London. When I was in New York, he was everywhere, because that had been our city. We had experienced so much there together. London had been a fresh start for me. He wouldn’t taint it for me. It was still mine and only mine.

The short few blocks takes less than five minutes, and when I get to the wide steps up to my building, I stop. I make it very clear that this is where we stop. This is where our quick “catch up” ends. I pause at the bottom of the stairs and turn to Richard. I thrust out my hand, offering him a shake. He looks at my outstretched hand and laughs softly, shaking his head.

“Really?” He asks, raising a dark eyebrow. I look at him, unamused.

“Good luck with everything, Richard.” I nod. He looks away, down the street, silent for a moment. I shift slightly, glad that the wind has died down and the sun has come out so that it’s actually sort of nice out. Cold, but bearable.

“I was an idiot. I didn’t know what I had.” Richard says sharply, looking back at me. There is sincerity in his voice, but my stomach churns. I cross my arms, trying to disappear into myself.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” I say pointedly. He nods, knowing he’s getting nowhere.

“I just wanted you to know…I wasn’t entirely truthful earlier. Carmen and I are over. She wasn’t what I thought. I wasn’t what she thought.” His words don’t surprise me. The absence of the wedding ring. The slightly flirtatious demeanor. He was a man on the prowl. I want to roll my eyes but I simply step backward, up onto the first step. This raises me to nearly his height.

“I’m sorry about your marriage.” My voice is robotic.

“Carmen and I never really made sense. She wasn’t very smart. She was beautiful, but beauty fades.” He sighs, his shoulders hunching. “You and I though….” He looks up. I chew my lower lip. “You and I made sense. You’re the whole package, Gracie. And I was an imbecile. It just seems like fate or something---bumping into you here, and now. I don’t know. It’s just that I’d…I’d kick myself if I left without…trying…”

He moves so quickly, that I honestly am surprised. Richard lurches forward, his arms pulling me to him, nearly yanking me off the step. His mouth crashes against mine, and I can barely breathe with the way he’s holding me. He takes like coffee, and it’s strange and oddly familiar all at the same time. I don’t like it.

What exactly is happening?! I push him as best I can, but the way he’s holding me—practically carrying me, makes him stumble forward and he backs me up against the balustrade of the stairs. He nearly knocks the wind out of me, and I shove him hard in the shoulders, before he lets go and sets me back down on the ground.

“What the hell?!” I say angrily. I push him back again. Richard shrugs his shoulders, looking at me with big, bewildered eyes. His cheeks are flushed, and I can feel the slight bruised feeling of my lips from where he kissed me. Terrible. I raise my hand to my mouth, covering my lips.

“You’ve got to feel it too, Gracie—“ He reaches for me again and I slip from his grasp, making my way up the stairs as quickly as I can.

“No. I don’t. How dare you?” I shoot back as I stop momentarily at the top. Thankfully, he doesn’t follow me. He just stands at the bottom of the stairs, looking alarmed and disappointed.

“Please—“

“Forget I exist, Richard. Forget my face, forget my name. I want nothing to do with you. Ever.” My voice is harsh angrily, and I wipe my hand roughly across my lips where I can still feel his mouth.

“Grace—“

“Fuck off! For fucks sake!” I turn and yell, and then start laughing. It’s a hollow, angry, disbelieving laugh because is he really that daft? I would throw my shoe at him, but it’s far too cold and I like these boots way too much. Richard looks completely offended now, and he maturely gives me the finger before skulking away as I quickly let myself out of the cold and into the warmth of my apartment building. Not the Valentine’s kiss I was expecting, that’s for sure.

 

 

****

The rest of the weekend is quiet. Uneventful. Blissful in it’s silence. I forget Richard as soon as he’s disappeared down my street, back to whatever hole he crawled out of. I spend the rest of my Valentine’s day eating take out and binge watching Netflix.

Surprisingly, I get a phone call around dinner time from my father.

The conversation is short. I’m not really interested in speaking to another man who has continuously let me down. One is enough for one day and Richard has still left a sour taste in my mouth. My father rambles on for a bit, and does his best to guilt trip me about not coming back to New York to visit. Of course it would be out of the question to ask why he didn’t come to London to see me instead. Not that I’d really want to see him. I make up an excuse about having to work early, and then we hang up. By the end of the day, I’m emotionally drained and I end up going to bed rather early.

Sunday is just as quiet, but with zero asshole interruptions. Mary stops by around noon for lunch. She comes in with a blustery gust of wind, laughing about a mess of abandoned Valentine’s flowers she’s seen on the way in, apparently not the first discarded bouquet she’s seen that day.

“It’s a wretched holiday, isn’t it?” She rolls her eyes and throws her coat over the back my couch.

“It is. At least the chocolates are half off now.” I lift up a box of chocolates, wrapped in red paper, that I got for next to nothing at the store earlier that morning.

“Ah, silver lining.” She grins, and we dig in. Although I like being alone, it is nice to have her company. She is funny. She doesn’t pry (too much), and she’s just about the most open minded person I know. Perhaps besides Santos. Still, for some reason, I don’t tell her about my run in with Richard. Maybe I just want to forget it. It is easier if he just continues to not exist. I can still feel his lips, his teeth clattering clumsily against mine, the way he grabbed me and hulled me against him like some sort of doll.

We spend our afternoon and part of the evening finishing off the chocolate and catching up on a show we’ve been watching together. She invites me to get dinner with her tomorrow at the pub, but I’ve already got a plan to see Emily.

“It’s not weird then? Being friends with the sister of the man you’ve been shagging?” She wrinkles her nose. I laugh, thinking of Tom.

“Says the woman who still goes to her ex-huband’s in laws for holidays.” I snort. Mary laughs loudly and shrugs.

“Fair enough.” She nods, and we dissolve into laughter.

 

 ****

Emily looks refreshed and glowing when she breezes into the restaurant the next night. She’s wearing a gorgeous coat over an emerald green dress, and her blond hair shimmers in the candlelight. I’ve just worn jeans and a simple top, but we’re not talking about me here.

“Hello. You look gorgeous.” I smile, standing up from the small table. She hugs me and we get settled in at our small table. She pulls out a notebook, that looks stuffed full of writing, papers and bits hanging out from the sides.

“You look good too, Gracie.” She flashes me a smile and holds up her notebook. “I’ve brought the dreaded wedding book. I hope you’re ready.” She laughs. We order wine, and appetizers and then get started right in. They are having a rather unconventional wedding. A getaway early next year, with just close family and a few friends. Santos and I are the only ones in her wedding party. And Mark is having his brother, Alexander, and Tom as groomsmen.

“That is quite a planner.” I say, taking a sip of wine when it arrives. Emily brushes her hair from her face and grins as she rolls her eyes good naturedly.

“Ah, well, I’m never going to live it down. You should have heard them the other day. Both Mark and Tom wouldn’t get off of my back. They were saying I’m a bridezilla and Tom wouldn’t shut up about how unromantic it must be to plan your wedding on Valentine’s Day. He was joking, of course, but Mark thought he was hilarious. Tom just wouldn’t shut up.” As Emily speaks, I feel something go off in my head. Something sort of confusing and alarming, and I feel my stomach start to do flip flops. The feel you get right before you have to speak in front of a big crowd or right before you fall over the edge at the top of a roller coaster.

“That’s terrible of them.” I say distractedly. “Get Mark and Tom together and they just riff off each other. Were you talking on the phone? or Skype?” I try to sound casual, and I’m not sure if I manage. My heart is beating so fast, I am sure I’m going to lift off the floor. I take another sip of wine, to hide what I’m sure is my flushed face.

Emily shakes her head, flipping through her wedding planner as she absent mindedly starts eating the bread placed in front of us.

“No. It was a lovely surprised. Tom flew in for the weekend. He stopped by mum’s. I don’t know if he knew Mark and I would be there, but we all ended up having dinner.” She looks up at me and I do my best to hide the fact that I feel as if I’m going to throw up.

“Oh. That’s nice of him.” I can barely manage. Tom was in London. Tom was here. And he didn’t tell me.

“He flew back to the US last night. He’s such a workaholic. I’m really not sure why he even came in. I guess he wanted to surprise mum for Valentine’s Day.” Emily shrugs and then turns as the waiter comes up to our table.

I’m in a haze. A misty, wavering haze. I can see Emily talking, and I can make out sounds, but nothing is quite getting through. I sip my wine, and I taste the once slightly sweet liquid seem to turn to tar in my throat.

“Are you ready, Gracie? Ready to order?” Her voice filters through my thoughts. My hurried, screaming, whirling thoughts. Even if Tom wanted to fly in and spend time with just his family, why didn’t he just say so? And did he really not have time to see me, even if just for a few minutes? I don’t understand. I can’t wrap my head around it.

“I’m…I’m going to need a minute.” I manage, and my voice cracks slightly with the last word.

Emily busies herself chatting about her wedding, and flipping through her planner. I numbly pull out my phone and glance at my texts. Nothing. I type out a quick message, and hit send with shaking fingers.

 _How was your weekend? Thinking of you._ I send this to Tom, and then I wait. It occurs to me that I haven’t heard from him since Friday night.

He doesn’t text me back. Not right away. Emily and I get through appetizers and dinner. I feel like my head is stuffed with cotton the whole time, and I can barely focus. Emily mentions dessert, but I have to decline, telling her I don’t feel well. I can barely contain my anxiety. I can’t stay in that restaurant for another minute more.

We say our goodbyes rather quickly, and it isn’t until I’m home and lying in bed in the dark that I get a reply.

_Uneventful. Same old, same old._

No mention of the fact that he’d been home. That he’d lied and said he had to work. No mention of the fact that he’d chosen not to see me, or even tell me. This feels worse than pineapple. This feels…like I’ve been completely gutted. I feel my empty insides clench and tighten, and then I feel my hot tears start to rush unceremoniously down my face.


	31. February 2013: Cold Feet and Sake

I take the first flight I can get back to the states. It’s a red eye straight to DC, but I don’t mind. It’s better, in fact. The entire row of seats next to me are empty, and the rest of the plane is only half full. Mostly business travelers, a few young couples and single people. Like me. Singular. Alone.

The flight goes by in a blur. I’m exhausted, but I don’t sleep. The two seats next to me are empty, but I don’t bother stretching out. I stay in my spot, my arms wrapped around my middle, my carry on tucked neatly at my feet. I stare out the window for some time, but there isn’t much to see. The sky is a deep, velvety black. The ant lights of the cities below us flicker and twinkle for some time, until we are too high, and the clouds cover them. I close my eyes after some time, leaning my head against the cool window, trying not to focus too hard on the large amounts of empty, wide open space that surround me and are keeping me from having my feet planted firmly on the ground.

Santos meets me at Dulles, and we hug for quite some time after I cross through customs.

“Hi, lovey.” He says into my neck as we sway slightly. I let squeeze him tight and then finally we let go. He offers me his arm and we walk linked through the airport and toward the cab station.

“Thanks for letting me stay with you. I needed a break.” I feel the travel catching up to me. Heavy and weighing on my bones.

We step outside, and I take a deep breath. Back in the US. Back on the east coast. My familiar territory. It’s an overcast day outside. Spring still hasn’t quite hit DC, and things just seem rather gray, soggy and chilly outside.

“Sure. You know you didn’t even have to ask. You could have just showed up.” He squeezes my arm to his side, and we catch a cab just outside the airport. I don’t have much luggage with me—just my carryon. I’d packed in a hurry, throwing jeans and sweaters, mixed in with my toiletries. I didn’t really care. I just knew that I wanted out of London. I wanted out of England.

“How’s Cillian?” I ask, looking out the window as the city zips by. Cillian and Santos have an apartment not far from the National Mall. It’s convenient for sight seeing and getting around. I know they both will have to work while I’m visiting, so I’m looking forward to spending a lot of time in the museums. Quiet time. Alone time. Just me and some hundred year old paintings.

“Busy as hell.” Santos grumbles, but then brightens. “He said he can skip out early one or two days this week though, if you’d like to do something. Go for lunch or whatever.” Santos is looking at me strangely, and I know why. He knows part of what has happened between me and Tom, but I haven’t told him much. He knows it’s serious though. Enough that I’d come running “home”.

“That would be great. I don’t want you guys to go out of your way though. Believe me, I don’t need to be entertained. I just needed to get out London.” I take a deep breath.

“Did Mary give you a hard time about taking off? That little minx.” Santos smiles jokingly.

“No, she said to take as much time as I needed.” I nod. She’d been understanding. I didn’t tell her much, just that I wanted to use some of my vacation time. I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings, so one look at me, and she simply told me to take some time.

“Well, let’s get you settled in, and then let’s get ridiculously drunk. I bought four bottles of prosecco. Is that enough?” Santos grins as our cab pulls up to his apartment building, a newly rehabbed building aptly called Senate Square.

“For tonight.” I nod solemnly and follow him into the building.

 ****

I’ve taken a week off. The first two days I spend in Santos’ apartment. I don’t really do all that much. I’m not looking for a party, or really even much of a distraction. I just needed to be out of London, and in a place where I could clear my head. Santos and Cillian both work long hours—Santos at the architectural firm where he’s basically running the place, and Cillian does whatever phlebotomists do, and is busy doing it rather well, I’m sure.

I get myself acquainted with their small, but still somehow spacious apartment. It’s in a historic building, but it’s been remodeled to be very modern, airy and open. It feels so much different than the architecture back in London, and it’s nice to be out of my tiny, one room flat.

I spend my first morning wandering around. I wake up early, as Santos and Cillian are leaving for work. I make coffee and nibble on the pastries that Santos had picked up the night before for me. I walk around the bare, clean wood floors, looking out the wide, bright windows which give a spectacular view of downtown Washington, DC. I’m in a bit of a haze, to be honest. I feel raw, and splayed open, though I haven’t cried or talked about Tom since the night after I’d found out he’d been back to London without telling me. If I cry or really talk about him, then I’ll have to recognize just what he means to me.

I spend the morning straightening up (Cillian and Santos are not the best house keepers, and it’s the least I can do if they are letting me stay with them). I vacuum and do dishes, and set things straight. It’s all to keep my mind busy, and to keep from drifting too far.

The next two evenings are spent out for dinner and drinks, which Santos arranges. They keep me entertained, laughing and joking around. It’s easy to feel a little less lonely when I’m around them. They don’t allow time for that. There is something so comforting about being around people who know you.

I spend two rainy afternoons in a row, wandering around the National Gallery. I’ve never been good with directions, no matter how simple, so I find myself meandering through the maze like galleries. I get lost, get turned around, and wander through the same rooms multiple times, but I don’t mind. It’s a peaceful, beautiful place. There are people around, but most are being respectfully quiet or talking in hushed tones. The occasional group of school children will come through, energetic and simmering with a strange mix of excitement and boredom—excited to be out of the classroom, bored because they, for the most part, can’t quite grasp the power of the art around them. It’s all paintings of dead strangers to them.

By my fifth evening in DC, I can tell Santos is just about bursting to grill me for details. He’s kept quiet the entire week so far, and I give him props for keeping himself in control. We’ve decided to stay in that night. Cillian orders what seems like a couple hundred dollars worth of sushi, and we spread it out on their big, glass coffee table. I sit on the floor, picking pieces of maki up with takeout chopsticks. Santos sits next to Cillian on the couch, both of them wearing matching sweatpants.

“They were buy one get one at Urban.” Santos says grumpily when I give him an amused, raised eyebrow when they had both stepped out of the bedroom after changing from work clothes.

“He makes me wear them.” Cillian rolls his eyes, but looks secretly pleased.

“Do you want to go with us to Curacao, Gracie? We might go next month. We’re deciding.” Santos scrunches his nose at Cillian, who shrugs.

“Curacao? That sounds amazing.” I sigh heavily, thinking of clear blue water.

“Come. We’ll get a two room suite. Or a villa!”

“Oooh…a villa.” A general cooing goes around the room, and then we all continue shoving sushi into our mouths.

“I have to work. I don’t have the money for that right now.” I shrug easily.

“It’ll be my treat.” Santos looks up. I smile and shake my head.

“If I do any traveling, it should be back to New York. My dad’s been on my case.” I roll my eyes. Santos grunts and then stabs a piece of sushi with the tip of his chopstick.

“Don’t waste your time, Grace.” Santos curls up his lips and then glances at Cillian. “Papa Bell is a waste of space. On Gracie’s sixteenth birthday, he said he’d take her to dinner but stood her up at the restaurant! He didn’t come to graduation. He only calls when he needs money.” Santos explains to Cillian, who looks upset.

“That’s terrible.” Cillian shakes his head.

“Cill never experienced the trials and tribulations we did,” Santos pats him on the leg. “Cillian’s family is like…the perfect American family. Dad is a neuroscientist at Hopkins. Mom is stay at home, but she does a ridiculous amount of charity. His sister, Amy, works for NASA. Fucking Nasa!” Santos laughs heartily. “Bobby is a hairdresser.” He glances at Cillian and laughs, which reminds me that this whole thing had started with Santos dating Bobby.

“White picket fence, golden retriever…” I joke gently.

“Gay sons.” Cillian raises an eyebrow, and glances at Santos. We all laugh. “My parents were amazing about it, actually. I worried for awhile that I was going to ruin their “ideal family”, but I quickly learned that they didn’t give a shit about that stuff. I’ve been lucky. It’s good to be accepted for who you are.” He says softly, a bit somberly. I know for a fact that Santos hasn’t always had it that easy when it came to acceptance amongst his family, and I’m sure they both know people closely who have struggled very hard with it.

“Plus, look at him. He’s perfect. What’s not to like?” Santos smiles happily at Cillian, and Cillian blushes, then swats at Santos.

“You guys are going to give me a toothache.” I groan and stuff a spicy California roll into my mouth.

“So Gracie…Santos and I have been taking bets.” Cillian says, changing the subject. I look up and wait, hesitant.

“About?”

“Why you’re here. We both have our ideas.” He glances at Santos, who is staring at me. I sit up a little straighter and sigh heavily.

“Do we have anything stronger than this?” I ask, nodding toward my beer. Santos nearly jumps off the couch, and comes back a moment later with a bottle of sake.

“Ask and ye shall receive.” He pours us each shots, and we take them quickly. The sake is sweet, but pungent and it burns for a second as it goes down.

“I fucked up.” I say softly, after a moment. Santos fills my cup again without asking, and I can feel them both staring at me, sitting forward, resting their arms on their knees as if I’m about to spill a fantastic secret.

“What? How?”

“I fell in love with him. I shouldn’t have. It was stupid of me. And I…I thought maybe it could be something more, but he got cold feet. And I feel like an idiot.” I pull my knees against my chest, setting my chopsticks down and drinking the sake in one quick gulp. Santos glances at Cillian and then puts a hand on his jaw.

“Cold feet?” He asks gently. I look up.

“He told me he couldn’t make it to London to see me on his break. But he did come to London. I saw Emily and she told me he was there for the weekend. I even asked him about it and he…he lied.” It feels embarrassing to say out loud.

“Ouch.”

“He had to have known you’d find out. You’re so close with his family!” Santos explodes. This thought has crossed my mind. Quite a few times, actually.

“I guess it’s his way of telling me how he really feels.” I shrug. Santos looks increasingly angry, and Cillian just looks bewildered. We sit in dumbstruck silence for a minute, before anyone starts talking again.

“That doesn’t seem like Tom, Gracie. I don’t know him as well as you, but I know him well enough. You two have always been weird about each other, but that just sort of seems…heartless.” Santos says slowly after a moment, his brow furrowed.

“I thought so too. But…I’m not making it up.” I say lamely.

“He cares about you, Gra—“

“Santos, you really don’t need to. I’ve thought about this. A lot. Tom hasn’t been in a serious relationship since I’ve known him. He’s most likely still hung up on his ex-fiance. He wants me when he sees me, but when I’m not around, I’m out of his mind.”

“That doesn’t remind you of anyone?” Santos grunts and looks me dead in the eye.

“I’m not…in love with Richard, Santos. You know that.” I growl softly.   “In fact….I saw him. Richard. That same weekend. We bumped into each other at the shop near my house. He walked me home and tried to kiss me. I guess he thought that…that…I don’t know.” I shudder, thinking of that terrible kiss. Santos’ jaw drops, and Cillian audibly gasps.

“You’re fucking kidding me. How did you not tell me this sooner? What are the odds?” Santos grabs my arm, shaking me slightly. I shrug, my mind abuzz with sake and gossip.

“It just further cemented how done I am with Richard. I’ve known for a very long time, but…there are no doubts in my mind anymore, if there were any at all.” I say softly.

“Have you talked to Tom? About any of this?” Cillian pipes up, seeming to have recovered from the shock. I shake my head, feeling a pit in the bottom of my stomach.

“I’m…afraid to talk to him, I guess. I know he lied to me. I don’t know what to say.” I shrink back, leaning against the coffee table.

“Do it. Right now.” Santos says suddenly, getting up and disappearing down the hall. Cillian and I look after him, confused.

“Santos?” I call out, my voice echoing. He returns a moment later, my phone in his hand. He places it on the table in front of me, and nods toward it.

“We’re not getting any younger. Call the man. You both deserve that much.” He demands. I stare at my phone, and I feel a wave of understanding surge through me. Santos is right. I need an answer.

I grab the phone, flip through my contacts and touch Tom’s name.

Santos and Cillian sit watching on the couch, Santos has his hands clasped in front of his mouth. Cillian has his hands braced on his knees. I can feel my heart racing.

The phone rings once, twice, and then abruptly during the third ring, it clicks over to voicemail.

“Hi, you’ve reached Tom. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can. Thanks.”

I hang up and look blankly at the screen.

“No?” Santos asks. I shake my head.

“I think he dismissed my call.” I put the phone down and shrug helplessly. Both men groan softly, and I push it away, forcing a quick smile.

“It’ll be fine.” I nod. Santos moves from the couch and sprawls out next to me on the floor. We are nearly finished with the bottle of sake, but we drink whatever is left, straight from the bottle. I feel pleasantly numb, the alcohol dulling my feelings.

“We need to find you a boyfriend, Gracie girl. A real one.” Santos says without much conviction. He sounds disappointed as well, as if he was sure that a phone call would reveal that Tom truly cared about me and wanted to be with me. Instead, it seemed to cement my worries.

“I don’t want a boyfriend, don’t you get that, Santos?” I shake my head. “I could get a boyfriend. Easily. I’m not trying to sound arrogant, but I could. I don’t want just any man. I want…him. But I was just…there to scratch an itch.” Mary’s voice in my head, though she hadn’t been talking about this situation, it makes perfect sense.

“Gracie.” He breathes my name softly, sounding heartbroken. I brush away tears that have been threatening to fall, and then finally make good on their promises. Santos moves, and envelopes me in a hug. I squeeze him for a minute, and then let go, wiping my eyes quickly.

“I don’t know what happened. But I don’t want to do this any more.” I groan, feeling it all the way to the marrow of my bones.

“I’m sorry, lovey. I am.”

“Just tell me…how do you fall out of love with someone? I’ve done it before, but this time it seems different. It hurts more. And I didn’t know that was possible.”

 

****

I head back to London two days later. Santos and Cillian keep the rest of my trip light hearted. We see some theater one night, and my last night they take me to a fancy restaurant with a terrific view at the top of one of the ritzier hotels. I feel better about what happened with Tom. I don’t feel good, but Santos has given me quite a few pep talks. Cillian has been a wonder as well, offering advice with a bit more seriousness in mind that Santos is sometimes incapable of. I try not to focus on the fact that Tom doesn’t call me back. Just like that. I go from a few text messages a day, and a phone call every few days…to nothing at all.

When I get back to my apartment after another long, exhausting flight, I’m shocked at how small it seems. I’d gotten used to the light, airy space of Santos and Cillian’s place.   Still, it’s home. I like knowing they are only a phone call away. Or a rather long, but not too complicated plane ride away.

I pull off my clothes quickly, and crawl into my bed. I wrap myself in blankets and bury my face in my pillows, and try to fight back the dark edges, which are quickly and quietly fighting for more space in my head.


	32. March 2013: Perfectly Sober

It is strange how quickly a month can pass, especially when you’ve turned off everything. All emotions. All hopeful thoughts, all sad thoughts too. You just sort of exist. Time goes by, and things move on, and you’re still there. I spend the next three, nearly four weeks, in a strange sort of in between.

Go to work, come home, eat something, go to bed, repeat. Sometimes I go out with Mary, who always manages to make me laugh. I break and tell her the majority of the Tom story, and she listens with rapt attention. She says she’s ever the romantic, despite a failed marriage of her own, and no real prospects for love at the moment (though she’s never alone for very long). I admire her positivity, but I am just about drowning in my own confusion at the moment, so it doesn’t help much.

I never really had Tom, so it’s a little easier to push him from my mind. We were always just on the edge. Those last few weeks after Christmas had been something a bit different, a bit more, but it had obviously been too much. I’d only known Tom to do quick, flash in the pan relationships. I don’t know why I thought I would be any different. I suddenly knew what it felt like to be a Jenny or a Susie or a Serena. I’d become one. A Gracie.

Embarrassment, fear of rejection, heartbreak perhaps, all kept me from really trying to contact Tom again. So I buried myself head first in work, and I tried to forget the way he used to make me feel. The feeling I’d get when he was around, like static electricity in the air. When I thought about it, remembered it, it made me want to cover my face in blankets and disappear for as long as possible.

After one particularly cold walk home from the pub with Mary one night, I fell into a fretful, sweaty sleep in which I dreamed he wanted me back. Tom came to me and begged my forgiveness. He said he was sorry, and that I was the one for him. I woke up around midnight, sweating and disoriented, my heart in my throat. It was like a punch in the gut. Waking up alone, and the hole in my chest gaping. How did this all start? With an innocent, carefree one night stand, culminating in increasingly confusing, spell binding meetings.

I manage to fall back asleep, after covering my face with my hands and counting slowly backwards from 100, trying to slow my heartbeat. My respite is brief, as I’m awoken some time later, by a loud banging on my door, which is really only a few yards away from my bed. I’m so out of sorts, and in a bit of a sleep deprived daze, that it takes me a minute to realize what is happening. I throw the blankets off, my heart hammering against my chest anxiously. I’m worried it is Mary, and something has happened. I’m wearing only underwear, so I quickly throw on a tshirt and shorts, and grab my old sweater off the back of my chair.

The banging starts again, and whoever is outside desperately wants me to answer. I turn on a lamp and then rush over to the door. I look out the peephole, and when I see who it is, I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Am I dreaming? Did I not just dream this exact thing?

I open the door, slowly, and come face to face with Tom.

He has looked better, to be honest. But it has been so long since I’ve seen him, that I feel almost weak in the knees when I finally get to look at him with my own eyes. He’s got a few days scruff on his jaw, and his light brown hair is messy around his face, tufts of it sticking up, curling by his ears from being just long enough. He’s wearing a red flannel shirt, which is open at the throat, and a worn black jacket over that. One look at his face, and I can tell he has been drinking, his cheeks ruddy, his eyes a bit glazed. What he is doing in London, I don’t know.

“What are you…” I trail off when he looks at me because I feel it straight in my chest and then, between my thighs. It’s confusing and infuriating that even after everything, one look and I am useless. He looks angry, wounded, and yes, drunk.

“Can I come in?” He asks. He’s not slurring, and I’ve seen him drunk enough to be slurring before. Maybe he’s not as drunk as he looks.

“Yes.” I say, and step back. He walks in, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks around. It dawns on me that he’s never been here before. I’m not completely sure how he even knows where I live. I close the door behind him, and he walks into the kitchen like he owns it.

“I didn’t know you were in London.” I say, following him to where he’s standing, looking at my small kitchen table. There’s work stuff all over it—pamphlets and paperwork for Cleredon. He shuffles through it, messing up my piles, and I frown.

“Stop.” I grab at his hand, scolding him like a little child. He looks up at me, and then purses his lips.

“I thought you were gorgeous when we first met, did I ever tell you that?” He says, removing my hand from his, and then taking my wrists gently in his hands. I lick my lips, blinking. I’m not sure if I’m still asleep, or if this is really happening.

“No.” I say softly.

“Now, though, when I look at you…I don’t know what I see.” His words sting, and his brow furrows as he speaks. I yank my wrists from his hands, and cross my arms over my chest.

“What are you doing here?” I demand. He pulls his lower lip into his mouth and then shrugs as an answer. Bullocks.

“I’m done in California. I’m back in London for the play. I’ll be here for the rest of the year, for the most part.” He blinks, his eyes looking more green than blue. I realize I haven’t really known what he’s been up to for the last month. I don’t want to spend the rest of the night, dancing around what I really want to say, so I push forward.

“Why did you lie to me?” I say, my heart pounding in my throat as I speak. “I know you were in London the other month…when you told me you couldn’t make it.” He walks through my kitchen and then over toward my living area. He leans against the back of the sofa, and then looks at me as if he’s never seen me before.

“Do you, now? You know I was in London.” He smiles, and I see bits of the Tom I know. It disappears though and is replaced with something else. Something angry and hurt, like a wounded animal.

“I do. I talked to Emily. She told me.” I raise my chin. I did nothing wrong, so why do I feel like I’m the one on trial? Tom stands up to his full height then, and raises his chin as well, looking down at me over the slope of his perfectly formed, thin bladed nose. I feel my bones go a bit jello like, and the room seems to get smaller, if that’s possible.

“Come here.” He says. I don’t want to listen, but my feet move before I can do otherwise.

I stop in front of him, but he doesn’t move. He has his arms dangling at his sides, his gaze on me, with lids lowered. I can’t deny the fact that I’m confused and hurt, and angry at him, and yet undeniably still attracted to him. It’s like we have magnets in our blood, and when our bodies are close, we are drawn in. At least, that’s how it is with me. I’m not sure how it is for him. But he must feel something.

Tom’s arms raise, his hands coming to my hips, and he turns me, then presses me back against the sofa. He pushes his hips into mine, and I feel his fingertips dig into my sides. I know where this is going, and I know it’s not good. For either of us. I’ve spent the last few weeks forcing myself to fall out of love with this man. Sleeping with him now, would be quite possibly the worst idea. It may be our usual routine, but I just can’t this time.

“Tom.” I say his name softly, but he stops moving. I can feel his breath against my neck, his hand on my chest, rubbing my bare breast through the thin material of my tshirt. He moves quickly, despite being obviously drunk.

“Yes?” He answers, not moving. I push against him, but he doesn’t budge. I feel the solid mass of him, the muscles under his shirt, the heaviness of his limbs. He leans into me, and uses his forehead to nudge my face toward his. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I want to kiss him. The last time we’d kissed was in bed at Christmas, and I’ve thought of him so many, many times since then. It hurts, somewhere deep in my chest, but I move my mouth to his.

He tastes like whiskey, and he kisses me roughly at first, drunkenly and full of testosterone. I press my hands to his chest, and then up to his jaw, slowing him down. He responds, and then kisses me like I remember. Soft, passionately, like he’s drinking me in after he hasn’t had water in days. I lean into him, and he gathers me in his arms. Almost immediately, his hands are at my shirt, under it, running over my bare skin and then tugging at it to take it off. I grab his wrists and stop him, then break our kiss as reality crashes like a wave into my mind.

“How drunk are you?” I take a step back, and Tom teeters forward.

“Perfectly sober.” He is practically falling over. I’ve seen him drunk before, and then I’ve seen…this.

“Why are you here?” I swallow hard, my heart in my throat. We haven’t talked in a month. He’s ignored me completely. We went from warp speed to…nothing. With no explanation. And I don’t understand why he thinks it’s okay to just show up at my apartment, uninvited and unannounced at 27 minutes past two on a Thursday. It’s quite obvious he wants sex, but beyond that, I’m not sure why he is here. Maybe there is nothing beyond it. He thinks we can just go back to being fuck buddies, which is all we ever really were.

“I was out with my friends.” He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back. He looks different. Bigger, more muscular. His shoulders are broader, his waist still trim but wider. Coupled with his height, he’s rather intimidating. I blink at him, and cross my arms as well, unconsciously mimicking his stance.

“And?” I push.

“Hell, Gracie. I don’t know.” He murmurs, shrugging his shoulders, agitated. “I wanted to know why.” He is looking down, but then he looks up, through his amber lashes, and straight through me. I chew nervously on my lower lip and shake my head.

“Why what?” I ask, my voice wavering.

“Why you…why you’re completely and utterly…heartless.” He says this with such anger, such surprising bitter vitriol that it is like a slap across the face. I take a step back with the force of it and it takes me a moment to recover.

“Me? Me?!” I say, my voice going quickly from calm and unsure, to frantic and outraged. I move forward, advancing toward him. I’m not afraid of him, no matter how imposing and large and angry he seems. I feel the hurt, the pain, the abandonment of the past month rise up in my chest and nearly burst through it. I take a few rushed steps toward him, and then push him angrily in the chest.

“You don’t get to do this, Tom. You don’t get to do this.” I say angrily, shaking my head. He’s watching me now, his head still bowed, looking at me with a furrowed brow and livid eyes.

“Do what? Ask for an explanation? Ask for a little decency? A little honesty?” His voice is low, but it’s simmering with irritation. I frown, confusion rattling through me and colliding with my anger.

“Honesty? Honesty?! I’ve been nothing but honest with you!” I explode, balling my fists tightly at my sides. My hands ache with the force of my grasp. Tom looks at me as if I have two heads. He tilts his to the side and grinds out his next words.

“How’s Richard, Gracie?” He raises his chin. I feel as if the floor has dropped out from under my feet. I take a step back, bumping into the counter.

“What?”

“I saw you. With him.” His words are like daggers, and I feel him slide each one into my chest. “I’m not a bloody idiot. I came home that weekend, to surprise you. Valentine’s weekend. And I saw you walk up with him, here. I saw you kiss.” He shakes his head as if shaking out a memory he can’t quite get rid of.

“It was like being drowned. Like getting rocks placed on my chest and being shoved into the Thames.” His jaw clenches.

I’m shocked. I’m stunned. And suddenly the last few weeks seem crystal clear. Why Tom stopped calling. Why he stopped texting. Why we went from everything to nothing.

“Tom…” I reach for him, my anger having dissipated as quickly as it came on. Oh god. This is all wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

“No.” He flings my hands away and looks at me, his eyes piercing. “I should have known. We’ve been doing this how long, Gracie? And I should have known. He was always there, lurking. You’re no different than Kelly. And I refuse to be a consolation prize.” He spits out, looking disgusted and then deeply sad. “It’s what I feared from the beginning. And it came true.” I don’t quite know what he means, but something deep inside me starts piecing it together. I push it away, not wanting to know.

“No, let me explain. Please, it didn’t mean anything.” I grab for him again, but Tom refuses to let me touch him.

“Tom, you…you mean everything.” I’m crying, though I don’t remember starting. I can barely speak.

“No, I’m tired of it, Gracie. I’m tired of this.” And he sounds it, he sounds exhausted. “And I’m tired of you.” He breathes this out softly, and I suddenly know what it feels like to have your own heart stop beating and then…simply cease to exist. Leaving behind nothing but a wide, gaping hole. I let out a soft, desperate sob. One that I can’t hold in.

“I’m sorry.” He turns then and leaves my apartment, the door wide open. I stand in my kitchen, feeling numb and empty and more alone than I have ever felt in my entire life.


	33. September 2013: Introductions

Mary grabs my hand, yanking me close to her. She’s had about 4 glasses of wine, and neither of us can stop giggling. I’m flushed, my skin hot from both the alcohol and the crowded pub.

“What do you think?” She hisses into my ear, and then we both dissolve into laughter. The two men sitting across from us, who are also engaged in their own conversation, are near strangers. Mary knows the older one—apparently she’s been on a few dates with him before. The slightly younger one, looks in his mid thirties, isn’t half bad looking and seems just on the edge of being too drunk.

“What’s his name again?” I ask. We ran into them on this foggy, fall night at the pub just down the street from Mary’s flat. We had intended to only stay for one glass, and then go back to her apartment for a movie, but that had quickly changed.

“Peter? Paul? Mary?” She giggles, grabs my upper arm and squeezes, which sends me into a fit.

“Are you going home with the other one?” I ask her, getting serious for a moment. Mary steals a glance at the older man, who has nice salt and pepper hair and fantastically white, straight teeth. It sort of makes me laugh, because we joked earlier about how he looked like he stepped out of an erectile dysfunction advertisement. Just slightly older, distinguished, proud but not too proud, masculine but humble. We giggle as if thinking the same thing again.

“I’ll give it a go. I want to see if it works.” She snorts and we both laugh. Mary tosses back the dregs in her glass and I follow suit. “What about you? Will you take Peter Paul home?” She looks at me with slightly red shot eyes, her cheeks flushed.

“I’m not sure.” I glance over my shoulder at Peyton. His name is Peyton. He looks up from his conversation with E.D. and smiles.

“Probably.” I grin.

“Righto, well, I’ll call you tomorrow morning, then?” Mary winks at me and then slinks off the high bar stool, looping her way to the other side of the table.

The bar is loud, crowded and full of Saturday night energy. There’s a live band in the corner, which really consists of two guys with guitars singing loudly. When the crowd knows the song, they sing along, surprisingly in tune for such a raucous, inebriated group. When they don’t know the song, the musicians are mostly ignored as background noise.

Mary disappears with her friend rather quickly, and I’m left with Peyton. He smiles warmly at me, leaning over the small bar table, his big hand resting on mine. He has tawny brown hair, short and a bit wavy. He’s broad shouldered, and a little beefier than I normally go for, but he has kind brown eyes and a nice smile.

“Want to go somewhere quieter?” He nearly has to shout over the noise. My head is starting to pound slightly, so I shrug and nod.

“Sure.” I slip off the stool, tugging gently on the thin spaghetti strap of the sundress I’m wearing. It’s been surprisingly warm for September, and I’ve managed to get away with a thin cotton dress and a lightweight cardigan to cover my shoulders.

Peyton takes my hand, leading me out of the pub. I feel lightweight on my feet, as if I’m half floating, half rolling through the bar. We barely make it out the pub door, when he’s got me by the waist, his fingers digging into my hips as he presses me into the side of the building.

I can’t say this is the norm for me. It never has been. Not even when I had to use slutty “Jamie” as an excuse a few years ago. But it’s become more frequent in the past few months. Mary has had a little to do with it. And it hasn’t gotten to sex. Not quite. I don’t have the guts for that. But there’s been quite a few fumbling, drunken make out sessions with strangers. Sometimes in their car, sometimes in a darkened hallway of the pub, sometimes just outside in a dark shadow.

I won’t say I don’t enjoy it. I do. It’s thrilling. It’s wonderful to feel wanted, even if it’s for one lone reason. And honestly, it makes me feel a tiny bit less lonely. At least for those few moments. It usually comes rushing back when I’m at home, alone in bed. But I’m not looking for a boyfriend. Not at all. So I’m just looking for a distraction, no matter how momentary.

Peyton’s lips press against mine, his tongue invading my mouth in a series of wet, sloppy flicks. I kiss him back, my hands pushed against his chest. He tastes like beer, and he kisses me as if he’s in a hurry. I feel him slide his hand up my bare thigh, grabbing onto me as he works his way up, under my dress.

“Not here.” I shake my head, pushing his hand down.

“Are you nearby?” He asks, his breath hot against my neck. I can feel him hard against my thigh, his pelvis flush against my hip and stomach. I lick my lips, breathing deep for a moment, stalling.

“Not really, no.”

“I’m parked in the car park across the way. We could go there.” He nods just across the street to a darkened lot. My heart pounds in my chest, and Peyton pushes against me a bit more insistently. I look up at him, into his dark, brown eyes, and am suddenly hit with the surprise, and yearning for them to be blue. Sky blue. Ocean blue. Somewhere in between.

I feel sick.

“I’m sorry. I should go home.” I slip out from his grasp, and Peyton sighs, looking disappointed.

“Really? We can go back to yours. Or mine. Doesn’t have to be the car. You’re a nice girl, I can tell. Was that rude of me to ask?” He tilts his head, and it makes me laugh softly.

“No, it’s fine. Really, I’m sorry. Thanks for a nice night.” I nod to him. Peyton groans softly, hanging his head, but then totters after me for a minute, like a lovesick puppy. I do feel bad for leaving him hanging, but I can feel my stomach turning. I don’t think he’ll appreciate if I throw up on him while we are…mid coitus.

“Can I get your number, then?” He smiles, walking backward so that he can face me. I smile, fighting off a blush.

“I’m not dating. But I’m flattered, really.” I am flattered, and I give him a little dip of my head, my hands over my heart. Peyton sighs heavily and then shrugs, stepping to the side to let me pass on the sidewalk.

“Goodnight then.” He calls after me, goodnaturedly. I smile, but I don’t look back.

 ****

  

Alwinton is nearly 6 hours from London, just a bit over 300 miles. Bernard meets me at Cleredon early Monday morning (after I’ve nursed a rather brutal hangover all day Sunday), and he’s clearly excited about going. Mary is there that morning as well, but she is mysteriously absent when he pulls up in a bright red SUV.

We exchange pleasantries, and since Mary has decided to go AWOL, I simply leave a note on her desk, saying she owes me for covering her ass because she can’t face an old one night stand.

The good thing is, I like Bernard immediately. He’s jolly. That’s the best word to describe him. He’s got a friendly smile, wire rimmed glasses and perfectly fits the description of what a castle curator should look like. He lives in London most of the year, and he travels often between historic sites. Alwinton Castle ruins are one of the less popular choices, but he’s thrilled someone’s taken interest in it.

“I’m tickled that you were able to come. I’ll be honest, I requested Mary, but she spoke very highly of you. It’s always good to have back up on these sort of things. And if we get this account, it will mean quite a lot to the foundation.” Bernard raises a light brown eyebrow and looks pleased.

I throw my overnight bag into the back of the SUV, and climb into the front seat with him.

“I’m glad to come. I’ve never been to Alwinton, to be honest. But I know a good deal about it and the surrounding area.” I settle in, happy to be out of the humdrum of London, even if for a short time.

We settle into an easy conversation. We’re focused mostly on discussing history and architecture in the area. Mary was right, Bernard definitely knows his stuff. And he speaks with such child like glee about it, that it’s rather infectious. The time passes easily, and we’re nearly half way there when I first check the time.

We stop for a quick lunch at a small shop on our way, taking a break to stretch our legs and use the restroom. Bernard buys my lunch, which I thank him for. He reminds me of a well educated, bright and friendly uncle. Not that I’ve ever had an uncle like that, but I suppose it’s what it would be like. We have much in common, despite an age difference of about thirty years.

“So, I must ask, what brings you to London, dear? You’ve spoken of your gallery work in New York. Curating and arranging private tours for old, crumbling buildings in England seems a bit far off from the edgy, modern world of art in New York.” He smiles warmly, taking a bite of his sandwich. I sit back in my chair, smiling.

“I don’t know, really. There was an offer, and I took it. It started with my gallery back in New York, but then I found Cleredon and Mary. And I just couldn’t leave.” I grin. Bernard nods, understanding and then sighs quite heavily.

“Mary is a good reason to stay. She’s quite something, isn’t she?” He asks, looking at me. I nod, watching him. Perhaps Mary hadn’t been entirely truthful about her relationship with Bernard. Though he obviously seemed a bit smitten, it seemed like an honest, real feeling and not just some ankle biting lust.

“She is. Are you…” I trail off, not sure how probing I want to be.

“She’s a minx, that one. But she’s got no interest in an old man like me.” He sighs, and I feel my heart melt a bit.

“You’re hardly an old man, Bernard.” I shake my head and he gives me a scolding look.

“Mary and I may be close in age, but she’s more like a twenty year old than either you or me.” He laughs. “I’ve known her for half our lives, through her marriage and divorce and my marriage and divorce. She’s a catch, but she’s a free spirit. No one is going to capture that one.” He breathes deep, suddenly seeming far off. I nod and had to agree.

“Have you told her you feel this way?” I ask softly. He looks at me, startled and then laughs heartily.

“Every day, nearly. She says we were just a fling. She was overcome with lust because I can sweet talk her about ribbed vaults and flying buttresses all day long.” He rolls his eyes, huffing softly, and I laugh and try not to blush. I know he’s talking about architectural characteristics, but I can’t help but see him and Mary locked in an embrace, talking dirty over blueprints.

“I’ll have to talk to her for you.” I give him a reassuring smile and Bernard laughs, slapping his knee.

“Let me know how that goes, then.” He grins.

We finish our lunch, and then get back on the road. We’re quieter the rest of the way to Northumberland, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I can’t stop thinking about Mary, and how interesting it is that she’s rarely ever mentioned Bernard before, save for when she asked me to take this trip for her. And yet, he seems to think of her quite often. It seems like that’s usually how it works.

We make it into the small town around seven in the evening, the sun just setting in rust colored streaks across the sky. This part of the country is much more rustic, and for the last two hours of driving, house and buildings got fewer and farther between. Roads got bumpier, and sometimes nearly nonexistent. Thankfully, Bernard seems to know his way by heart, and we get there easily. The small town we’ve ended up in seems to consist of only a handful of buildings. A bar and restaurant. A small hotel, that looks more like someone’s house. A few shops, and then some out lying homes in a small community. It’s surrounded by open air, and gorgeous greenery. So different from the gray wash of London, that I feel rather energized.

“We’ll stay here for the night. We’re meeting Johnathan and Marcel later this evening for dinner, if that sounds alright with you.” Bernard quips, as we park adjacent to the old field stone building. Johnathan is the location scout, and Marcel is the producer for whatever show or movie they are looking to film at Alwinton.

“Sounds perfect. This is adorable.” I breathe, stepping out of the car. It’s more of a B&B than a hotel, and it’s absolutely charming. I feel a bit like I’ve stepped back in time. My legs scream in protest and I give myself a minute to stretch, before following Bernard into the house.

 

**** 

After checking into our rooms, we have some time to relax and freshen up before dinner. I’m feeling a little fuzzy headed from the long drive, but after a quick shower and a change of clothes, I feel better. My room is small, but completely charming. Everything seems as if it’s been pulled directly from the past, with a certain old world charm and coziness that hard to miss. Still, the modern amenities are there, and everything is clean and well cared for.

I slip into a simple shirt dress, and a comfortable pair of ballet flats. It’s an olive green color, that goes well with my skin and the strawberry blond of my hair. I grab a sweater on my way out, incase it gets chilly that evening, and make my way toward the main floor. The main common room is large, and ornately decorated. It’s a cross between entering your grandmother’s house, and a castle. I’m not sure if I’m more stunned by the amount of books, or the rather massive fireplace against the far wall. , I’m not surprised to find Bernard sitting in one of the highbacked cushioned chairs, a pile of books by his side. He’s not alone either.

“Ah, dear Gracie! You look lovely.” Bernard stands when he sees me, and three other backs slowly turn.

“Sorry, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.” I say, glancing at my watch, but I’m right on time.

“Not at all. Let me introduce you to our new friends.” He offers me his arm, and I take it with a quick smile.

It takes me only a moment, to feel all eyes on me. I scan the faces before me, two men I’ve never met before. And then…one man…one man I most definitely have met before. Tom. The appearance of him there nearly makes me stumble, but I recover quickly and hope no one noticed.

I barely hear Bernard speaking, as he goes down the line introducing me. I have to physically make myself turn and look away from him. From Tom. Who is standing, rather unassumingly, his hands tucked into his pockets, his blue gray eyes locked with mine. I haven’t spoken to him since the night he came to my apartment, drunk and rambling and full of accusations.

I smile brightly, and shake hands with Johnathan, who looks a bit younger than I am and is dressed casually in a hoodie and dark jeans. He smiles at me, and makes a joke about something to do with movies and filming. I’m not totally listening, but I laugh when everyone else does. Next is Marcel, who is older, probably a bit older than Bernard. He’s wearing trousers and a suit jacket, and a dress shirt with no tie. Smartly dressed, but with a friendly smile. He’s the money in this operation. I shake his hand and get through pleasantries, and try my best not to let on that I can feel my heart thrashing about in my chest.

“And, Bernard, let me introduce you and Miss Bell to one of our stars. We’re really thrilled he could take a break from his rather rigorous rehearsal schedule right now, but he made it happen. This is Tom. He’ll be the lead in our little movie.” Marcel steps forward, introducing us. Tom smiles, his face breaking into what could only be described as a goddamn sun beam. Bernard looks thrilled, shaking Tom’s hand rather heartily.

“Splendid! Lovely to meet you. The more the merrier.” Bernard laughs.

“Thank you. Good to meet you too, sir.” Tom says sincerely. There is a momentary pause, and then I take a step forward and thrust my hand out in front of me, stiffly and look Tom right in the eyes.

“Nice to meet you.” I say slowly, looking at him. He looks good. Well rested, healthy.   Better than the last time I saw him. He’s wearing dark pants, and a black rolled neck sweater, a white tshirt peaking through just underneath. Tom takes a deep breath, and then smiles at me.

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Bell.” He says, his smile faltering slightly. If we are acting strange, the others don’t pay much mind. They all erupt in a series of exclamations about excitement about getting dinner, and talking about the movie and the location at Alwinton Castle, which we’ll visit in the morning.

We all walk together to the restaurant, as it’s only a few yards away from the B&B. The men all chat amicably, but I stay quiet, listening.   I can feel Tom’s presence, as he seems to be adamant on staying one or two steps behind me. Bernard, Marcel and Johnathan chat in front, Marcel talking animatedly about the project.

When we get to the surprisingly full restaurant, we are ushered into a cozy, intimate booth in the corner. The large, wide seat is U-shaped, the worn wood table a large square before us. It’s set back, recessed into the wall like a cubby, and there’s dark drapes pulled at the corners, giving a heady sense of privacy in the bustling restaurant. We slide into the booth, and Tom makes a point to sit next to me. I notice because he has the choice of sitting near Marcel, or walking around to the other side of the U to slide in next to me. He takes the few short paces, and plants himself next to me.

I’m sandwiched between Tom on the end, and Bernard in the middle. Johnathan is next to Bernard, with Marcel on the other end. It’s a spacious booth, and there’s a comfortable amount of space between me and Bernard, so that we won’t necessarily touch unless we want to. Tom though, seems perfectly comfortable with sliding in, his thigh resting gently against mine. My shirt dress has slid up, just high enough to reveal some of my terribly pale legs, and I can feel the somewhat rough material of his trousers against my outer thigh.

I glance at him as we order drinks, but he’s absorbed in looking over the menu. We haven’t spoken to each other since we were introduced, and I don’t feel the need to talk to him. When the waiter turns to me to take my drink order, I promptly order a double whiskey on the rocks and then shut my menu rather succinctly. Tom eyes me for a moment, his expression giving me terribly squirmy flashbacks of those expressive eyebrows. I squint at him, challenging, and then he turns, smiling to the waiter.

“I’ll have the same, thanks.”


	34. September 2013: Glenfiddich, a Confession, his Room.

We stay perfectly professional the whole entire dinner, which is hard for me because I’m slowly starting to boil. It goes from a slow simmer, tiny bubbles breaking the surface, to all out boiling turmoil in my head. It might be the whisky. Tom orders another double halfway through the meal, and a strange competitive streak rings through me, urging me to do the same. He’s ordering Glenfiddich, and I’m sure it’s expensive but he doesn’t seem to care, and so neither do I. I’ll spend my entire salary on blasted Scotch, drinking him under the table and he can go stuff himself.

“Thirsty?” He murmurs into my ear, while the rest of our company is distracted, engaged in a conversation about the architecture of the building. I’m a bit too fuzzy headed to really be interested in that at the moment.

“Parched. Absolutely parched.” I raise an eyebrow at him. He slips his arm behind me, resting it on the back of the booth. I’m far too aware of it, the way his sleeve brushes against my shoulders every once in awhile if I move too far back.

“How are you, Gracie?” He asks, his eyes lowered. I raise my chin slightly, and brace myself, wanting to push back. It’s been over six months since we’ve last spoken. I’ve spent a lot of time trying not to think of him. A lot of time convincing myself I wasn’t in love with him, but simply in lust with him. We hardly knew each other, right? We knew what we liked, but we didn’t know each other.

I had let the words “I’m tired of you” roll over and over through my mind. I let it seep into the little cracks of my brain, and deep in my heart. It wasn’t love I’d felt for him. I had convinced myself of that. Infatuation, friendship, and of course a rather healthy, bone rattling dose of lust. If I’d ever been in love with Tom, I wasn’t anymore.

“I’m good. Were you drinking Glenfiddich the last time I saw you, too?” I shoot at him. Tom coughs softly, swallowing his drink the wrong way. I turn my head just slightly to look at him, and then turn my focus back on the group.

“No, that was tequila.” I hear him mumble beside me. “Tequila and I are not good friends.” I don’t answer, but turn back to Bernard, who is describing something about plumbing in old buildings. I pretend it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard, smiling and nodding my head, trying to ignore Tom.

The night creeps along, and before I know it, it’s nearly midnight. I’ve been tense for most of the dinner, and the effects of traveling all day have caught up with me. That and the whiskey.

“Boys, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to the hotel.” I say, just after the men have ordered yet another round of drinks. They are all getting along splendidly, as if they aren’t near strangers, but old friends.

“Good night, dear. We’ll meet tomorrow morning around half ten to go to the site. Does that sound good?” Bernard rises, giving me a quick hug. I nod, waving a quick goodbye to Johnathan and Marcel.

“Yes, sounds good,” I agree. “Take it easy, boys.” I say with a quick smile, and then turn to where Tom is standing. He slips out of the booth, so I can leave.

“I’ll walk you.” He puts a hand at the small of my back.

“I’m fine.” I say softly, not wanting to cause a scene. I turn and catch his eye. Tom gives me a stern look, and I can tell I’m not going to talk him out of it.

“Tom, make sure she gets back safe, will you, chap? Join us for another drink after?” Bernard asks. Tom smiles warmly, and I can still feel his hand on my back. I step away, slipping my arms into my sweater, knowing it will be cool outside.

“I think I’m going to retire for the night, gentlemen.” He says with charm and apology.  

“Tomorrow, then.” Marcel raises his glass to Tom, biding us goodnight.

I turn and leave the table, not quite waiting for Tom. I didn’t ask him to walk me back to the hotel, and certainly don’t need him to. It’s a short walk, and though it’s late, the streets are completely quiet and deserted. The air is brisk and much cooler than when we’d arrived at the restaurant, but the whiskey in my stomach keeps me warm.

I walk quickly, not wanting to prolong the torture. Tom keeps up with me without really even trying, my short legs no match for his longer ones. I hurry along, ignoring him. I’m thinking about my warm bed, and maybe a hot shower.

“Are you going to turn into a pumpkin?” He says sounding a bit breathless.

“What?” I turn and glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest as we walk.

“You’re hurrying like a spell’s about to wear off.” He jokes.

“Oh no, that happened quite a long time ago.” I mumble. I can see the B&B just up ahead, the windows glowing with yellow amber light, warm and inviting.

“Ouch.” He says softly, falling slightly behind. I don’t want to feel bad. Don’t feel bad, Gracie, don’t do it.

We make it to the house, and I quickly climb up the stairs, reaching for the door.

“Gracie girl.” His voice stops me, and I hesitate, waiting with my hand on the door knob. “Please, I…” He’s quiet, his voice barely over a whisper.

I spin around so fast, that he stumbles backwards on the porch. Even in the dim moonlight, I catch the surprise on his face, and for a moment, I see the man I first met. The blond, sweet, excitable man from three years ago. I can feel heat rush to my face, and I reach forward and shove Tom hard on the chest. He’s sturdier than he looks, and though I push hard, he barely budges, the bastard. He looks surprised though, his features just visible in the dim light from the house.

“Don’t.” I warn him, poking a finger into his breastbone. He puts up his hands, as if my finger is a gun.

“Gra—“

“What are you even doing here?” I exclaim, throwing my hands up in exasperation. He relaxes slightly, leaning back against the porch pillar. I stand in front of him, hands on hips, waiting.

“It’s for work, Gracie. I’m in this movie—“

“Did you know I’d be here?” I ask, aggravated. He shakes his head.

“No.”

“Are you t-trying to hurt me? Or rub whatever it is in my face?” I ask angrily, the words tripping and falling out of my mouth as I speak. He looks surprised and his emotions flash over his features.

“No. No, not at all.” He says simply.

“Then leave me alone. Please.” I say, feeling my chest tighten as I do. “I’ve had a lot of time to think over the last few months. And I’m _tired_.” I say, recalling some of the last word’s he’d spoken to me. Tom blinks and presses his lips together.

“Fair enough.” He nods.

“No, it’s not fair. But it’s what it is.” I say angrily, and then turn to go inside. Before I can move far, Tom’s hand shoots out, and he grabs my wrist. He spins me around, yanking me toward him. I move without resistance, but I stop myself before I bump flat against his chest. He still has one hand wrapped around my wrist, and the other comes up as if he’s going to touch my face or push it through my hair, but he stops himself.

“I’m sorry. For what I did the last time we saw each other. For the things I said. It’s not an excuse, but I was drunk. And hurt. And angry, and it got the better of me. You didn’t deserve that. Any of it.” He speaks softly, his eyes searching for mine in the dark. I breathe softly, smelling the clean cotton of his sweater and the sweetness of his skin. An intoxicating mix that I’ve missed.

“You’re right. And it’s not an excuse.” I say lamely, the fire leaving me. He still has my wrist in his hand, holding it delicately in his fingers. I pull it away, and then take a step away from him. He slumps forward slightly, looking beat. I bite my lip, trying to figure out what to say next. I walk forward, opening the door to the house.

“Richard kissed me. I didn’t kiss him. I didn’t want to kiss him. He forced it on me. I don’t know what you thought you saw that day, but I didn’t want anything to do with him. Then or now. He wouldn’t listen to me. Just like you wouldn’t listen to me.   And I…I had been stupid enough to convince myself that I was in love with you.” I feel as if the air has left my lungs for a moment, because I hadn’t expected to say that. But there it was. Tom’s silent, not moving. His face is mostly hidden in shadows.

“But I’ve been wrong before. And I was wrong seven months ago.” I finish, softly. Tom shifts, and his face comes into view, illuminated by the glow from the windows. I can’t read his expression, but his eyes are fierce, locked on me, his jaw set and clenched.

“I’m just here to do my job, Tom. That’s it. We’re not hooking up anymore. We’re not friends anymore. I don’t know that we ever really were. So please, just let me be.” I breathe in and hold it, but he says nothing. He looks at me, his eyes bright and watery blue green in the amber light. He gives me a quick, nearly imperceptible nod, and then I turn and let myself quickly into the house. I don’t wait to see if he follows me in, knowing that he’s got a room somewhere in the B&B as well. I don’t know where his room is. Where Tom sleeps is none of my business anymore.


	35. September 2013: Ruins and a Beacon

Sleep wasn’t easy last night. Despite the whiskey, and the hot shower, and the rather comfortable bed at the B&B. I had laid awake, listening to the sounds of the house for quite some time. Every creak, every noise, I heard. Around one, Bernard, Marcel and Johnathan arrived back. They were quiet, but I heard the front door of the old house open and close, followed by the muffled boot steps on the hardwood floor. I hadn’t heard Tom go to his room, but I’m sure he was there.

We took the two cars—Bernard and I in the SUV, and Tom, Marcel and Johnathan wedged in the tiny automatic they arrived in. It’s a 45 minute drive from the town, but it’s a pleasant one. Bernard does his normal thing, remarking on the surrounding area and the nearby buildings. I keep quiet, lost in thoughts and the huge space around me.

 

Alwinton is mostly ruins. There’s huge, expansive green land, dotted with old, rust and orange dappled autumn trees. The clouds shifting through the sky leave the landscape mottled with shadows and then brilliant bright spots. It’s a moving, scenic place and it nearly buzzes with a calm and somewhat fantasy-like atmosphere. Vines cover the main standing wall of Alwinton, ivy green foliage covering speckled gray rough stone.

“This is perfect.” Johnathan breathes, pulling out a rather impressive camera. He starts wandering through the ruins, taking photographs. Bernard and Tom follow, walking carefully through fallen stone and overgrown half walls.

“You’ve never been here before?” Marcel asks, glancing back at me as we walk. Instead of going through the castle ruins, we start walking around the grounds.

“No. First time. To be honest, my boss Mary Heath is practically an expert on Alwinton. But she was unable to come. I know more about the surrounding area.” I say. I’ve dressed warmly in a dark blue and teal flannel shirt, a thick black knit cardigan, jeans, and knee high riding boots. The men are dressed similarly in boots and jeans, with light jackets or sweaters on top. Bernard wears a sweater vest under a tweed sports coat, and a cap firmly over his light hair. Tom’s wearing a black quilted jacket over a tshirt, and jeans. His russet hair blows in the wind, and I can see his tall, lean frame quite a distance off, picking through some rubble.

“Ah, I spoke with Mary on the phone.” Marcel nods. “Bernard has been gracious enough to take us farther, up toward the coast. I know that wasn’t on the original itinerary, but over drinks last night we discussed some fantastic sounding sights. I think it will be perfect for what we have in mind.”

“Sounds great.” I nod. I have to be back in London in a day, but I’m sure Bernard has a plan.

We spend much of the afternoon wandering a bit aimlessly through the area. Marcel and Johnathan chat about set ideas, with Tom nodding along. It’s interesting to hear their chatter—to see how they are planning to use the area. Tom fills Bernard and I in on the story of the film they’re making, and I listen carefully, despite myself. Tom’s a fantastic story teller, and though I don’t want to, I can easily get lost in his voice. It’s not the first time I’ve been mesmerized by his voice, but this time there’s hundred year old ruins as a backdrop. Still, he doesn’t quite meet my eyes as he talks, and I feel the stony, cool wall between us as real as the old walls nearby.

After a few hours at Alwinton, we hop in the cars and drive a few miles north to another sight. More ruins. More old stone and rubble. It’s beautiful though. The sky has turned from cloudy with breaks of sunlight to just overcast, and it seems to threaten rain any moment.

“Let’s take a look, and then we should be heading out.” Bernard suggests to us, as we begin walking. We grab umbrellas before leaving, knowing that the sky looks ominous. It’s nearing four in the afternoon, and I’m starting to get hungry and tired. I look around, and I don’t seem to be the only one feeling that way. Dark smudges under Tom’s eyes suggest he didn’t get much sleep last night either. And Johnathan rumbles softly about needing a bite to eat soon.

“I hope the rain holds off a bit. The roads are not the best when it starts pouring.” Marcel sighs, looking up. As if on cue, it starts to drizzle, but only just a bit. Johnathan begins snapping a few pictures, and we look around just long enough to get a feel for the place, sticking closer to the cars than we did at Alwinton.

“Darling, are you okay to do the drive home?” Bernard walks over to where I’m standing, huddled under an umbrella.

“Sure.” I nod, shivering briefly against the cooling weather.

“Marcel wants to go to the coast, and I’ve offered to extend the trip. Since you and Tom are both headed back to London, I figured you could take the rental and head back.” Bernard nods toward the little jalopy that Tom, Marcel and Johnathan had been carting around in. I take a deep breath.

“Okay.” I feel my stomach tighten, and I wonder if something greater in the universe hates me.

“Are you sure? I can reschedule with Marcel and Johnathan for later. I just figured since we are half way there, and they have the time.” Bernard offers graciously. I shake my head.

“No, I’m fine. Tom and I can make our way back together. No problem.” I smile at Bernard, knowing he’s only trying to do his job.

“Thank you. That works out splendidly then. Apparently Tom needs to be back for rehearsals for the play he’s in. And I know you’ve got to be back to Cleredon.” Bernard smiles, his thoughts elsewhere for a moment. “Please, do say hello to Mary for me.” His smile widens. I laugh and pat his arm.

“Absolutely, Bernard. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear from you.” I fudge the truth a bit. I’ll have to get on Mary about Bernard. He’s sweet and smart and absolutely worships her.

It starts raining harder as the men finish up with photos and wandering about. Tom walks over as Bernard discusses the next route with Marcel and Johnathan. His hair is wet, slicked back from the rain, and the bottoms of his jeans are soaked.

“I hear there’s a bit of a change of plans.” He steps under my umbrella and I tilt it toward him. Up close, his skin is damp and a bit blue with cold. He looks down at me and gives me a tiny smile. I can tell he’s tired, and as if on cue, he yawns rather loudly, covering his mouth with a big, sinewy hand.

“Right. Change of plans.” I say softly. We’ve avoided each other for most of the day, both knowing it’s for the best. Now it looks like we will be secluded in a tiny car together for quite a few hours.

“If we drive straight through, we can be back in London by midnight or a bit later.” Tom says, looking down at the large, rather modern looking digital watch on his wrist. It’s not ideal…making the seven or so hour trip home in one go, but I know neither of us is trying to prolong this. I nod in agreement, and then shiver as the wind picks up.

“We should get going. The weather is turning.” Marcel walks over to the small group, where we are standing between the two cars. We say our goodbyes, shaking hands and giving hugs. It’s been a short trip, but pleasant despite the surprise guest. I grab my bags from Bernard’s car, and throw them into the backseat of the tiny car, next to a small duffel that must be Tom’s. I feel my stomach knot with anxiety as we climb into our separate cars. Tom seems fine with letting me drive, and I’m guessing it’s because he’s looking more and more tired as our day has gone on.

The sanctuary of the tiny car is surprisingly comforting as the rain starts to really pour down. The sky has gone from gray to nearly pitch black, despite it only being a bit before 5. I turn on the wipers and the lights, getting myself acquainted with the little car. Tom turns on the heat, high, and I notice he’s shivering.

“You should take off your jacket if it’s soaked. You’ll get warmer that way.” I say, glancing at him. He nods, and sheds his jacket. He’s only wearing a tshirt underneath, and he turns and starts rifling through his bag in the backseat. His side presses up against me, his shirt riding up high on his side, his bare skin just inches from my face. The interior of the car is rather close quarters, so it’s not something he can really help. I swallow hard and look forward, both hands on the wheel, at 12 and 4.

I turn and blast the heat, the windows steaming for a moment. Tom turns back around, yanking a hoodie out of his bag and tugging it on over his shirt. He glances at me, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you alright to drive? Do you want me to be your navigator?” He asks. I take off my cardigan, getting comfortable as the car starts to warm up. The SUV has already pulled away, taking the other three men off to their next adventure.

“I’ve got it.” I hold up my phone, which has our coordinates plugged in, the screen glowing comfortingly in the near dark of the car.

“Alright.” He puts on his seatbelt, and we’re off.

There’s no radio in the car. Or, there is one, but we don’t get any sort of service out here in the country. The terrible service, combined with the wind and the rain, have my phone cutting out every couple of miles, but I’ve got a good idea where we are going. It’s not all that difficult. It’s mostly one main road I need to follow. We’re quiet, and Tom offers to sing show tunes when we realize there’s no radio, but I squash that quickly with a pointed look.

“How did you sleep last night?” He asks, grasping at conversation. He’s somewhat unable to sit in silence for long. I turn the wipers on high as the rain seems to be coming down in sheets. The road in front of us is completely dark, save for the feeble car headlights.

“Okay.” I say, shrugging. “You?” I glance at him, but then look back at the road. I’m not all that anxious driving in the weather. It’s not as if there’s any other traffic, so I don’t need to worry about hitting anything.

“Terrible.” He murmurs, but then doesn’t elaborate. “How’s Santos?”

“He’s great. He’s the same. Super serious with Cillian.” I sigh softly.

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”

“Cillian mellows him out. It’s a good thing.” We both laugh and then fall back into a quiet, less tense silence. We seem to have reached a wordless agreement that we will play nice during our drive home. There’s no point in poking a healing wound, and I know neither of us really want to rehash what happened. Not in these close quarters, at least. There doesn’t seem much else to say anyway. Tom yawns softly, and out of the corner of my eye I can see him rest his head back.

“You can nap if you’d like. I’ll wake you up if I need a break.” I offer. I’m feeling generous. Tom makes a noise and then moves around a bit, sitting back in the seat and moving his long legs out as much as he can in the tiny car.

“Thanks. Wake me up when you need to.” He says softly. It doesn’t take long, and then he’s out.

 ****

At first, I don’t know that I’m lost. For a good hour or so, I’m totally sure I’ve taken the right road. The mostly stone and now mud road we’d been on had forked rather suddenly, and I’d gone on the more straight one, sure it would take us back through the small town we’d stopped in last night. But I was wrong. And everything in the country looks vaguely the same, especially in the dark when it’s raining. Mud, stones, grass, tree, repeat.

Tom’s been asleep the whole time, and for awhile I’ve been lost in my own thoughts. His shoulder bumps against mine in the confined interior of the car, but it’s oddly comforting to have him there, even if unconscious.

I know I’m lost when it’s been just over an hour and the road has gotten rather weird and jagged, and I come to yet another fork, which I know for a fact wasn’t there when we came in. I feel panic rise in my chest, and I look down at my phone, which has been frozen on the same spot for quite some time. Isn’t technology grand? I curse softly, and turn off the screen, knowing it’s no help now. The rain is more of a mist at this point, and it’s settling in rather creepily around the car.

“How long have we been lost?” Tom asks, his voice rough with disuse. I glare at him and then grunt.

“We’re…not…lost.” I blink.

“Liar.” He says, his voice amused. I look at him, and he’s opening his eyes, waking up. His face is calm, and strangely vulnerable, probably due to sleepiness. I’ve seen that face before, and I feel it like a quick punch to the stomach.

“I took the wrong turn, I guess. All these bloody ‘roads’ look the same.” I abruptly stop the car, which launches Tom forward rather suddenly and he smacks his forehead on the windshield with a muffled thump. He curses and then flops back in his seat.

“Sorry.” I put on my hazards, despite knowing we are utterly alone for miles. Tom groans and rubs his head, and then turns to me.

“You could have woken me up.” He offers, his voice annoyed but also amused.

“I didn’t know we were lost until just now.” I grumble. My stomach seems to agree, and it rumbles as well. As if on cue, I hear Tom’s stomach gurgle unhappily. We haven’t really eaten since breakfast, and we’re both starving.

“Okay, let’s switch.” He says, gesturing toward the driver’s seat. I almost refuse, on grounds that I’m perfectly capable of finding our way, but then I realize I’m tired, and cramped, and feeling a bit fuzzy headed with hunger and fatigue.

“Fine.” I sigh, and we get out. We both stretch as we do, the cool, misty night air feels good on my slightly overheated skin. I hear Tom’s soft groan as he unfolds himself from the car, his long arms going up over his head. I stomp around to his side as I stretch my shoulders, and then climb back in. He follows a moment later, adjusting the driver’s seat back as far as it will go to accommodate his long legs.

“Who was sitting here before? A child?” He jokes, and I scrunch up my nose at him.

“Shut up, you string bean.” I huff softly under my breath. Tom laughs, and it seems to break some sort of morose spell that had settled over us. It’s light and airy, and crackles through the air.

“Did you really just call me a string bean?” He grins and puts the car into gear. I shrug, but I’m smiling.

“Perhaps.” This situation could go in two directions, but we seem to have decided to keep it light and amused, and not go on some glum, angry path. Maybe it’s because we both know we’ve still got quite a ways to go until we are back safely in London. Back where we can go back to pretending the other person doesn’t exist.

“Well. Glad we’re five years old.” He starts driving, though I know neither of us knows where we are. I grab my phone, and start fiddling with it, hoping for some sort of signal.

“What if we never get back? I’m starving and if I don’t eat soon I can’t be held responsible for my actions.” I sigh heavily, feeling relieved that Tom is driving. I feel tension in my shoulders that I didn’t know was there, and I tilt my head back and forth to the side to try and ease some of it.

“Oh my god.” He mutters under his breath with mock annoyance. He motions to the back seat. “Well, if you had told me you were lost, then we would be back in the town by now having dinner.”

“Oh sure, I’m so sorry, Mr. GPS. I forgot you’ve got google maps in your brain.” I roll my eyes and Tom reaches over and pinches me right above my waist and below my ribs. I shriek and swat at his hand.

“Stop complaining. Go in my bag. There’s a stash of sweets in there.” He motions to the backseat. I gape at him for a second and then turn quickly, digging frantically through his duffel. Tom chuckles, and then I find what is indeed an entire bag of chocolates.

“Are you kidding? You’re like a tubby child.” I say, but I can’t hide the happiness from my voice.

“Says the girl who’s about to tear through that whole bag.” He gives me a side eye and then holds out a hand. I unwrap a Hershey’s kiss and place it neatly on his palm.

“One for you, the rest for me, thank you.” I smirk at him, and then pop one of the chocolates in my mouth. I moan softly, closing my eyes and settling back into the seat. “Oh lord. Thank you.” I whisper, moaning again. I peak at Tom, and he shifts in the driver’s seat, both hands on the wheel. He doesn’t say anything.

We are quiet again as Tom drives. The wind and rain pick back up, and soon we can’t see more than a few feet in front of the car. I’ve gotten the GPS on my phone to work, and though we are headed toward a town, we’ve gone quite far out of the way. Tom groans and squints as he tries to see through the sheets of rain.

“We’re going to die. I’m going to die in a tiny car in the middle of nowhere, high on chocolate.” I say softly, my voice floating through the pattering of the rain.

“We’re not far from…wherever we’re headed.” He points to the tiny dot on the map on my phone.

“Yes, but then once we get there, it’s eight hours til London.” I huff. Tom makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a grunt.

“What do you think about staying in the town? Eight more hours in this tin can does not sound appealing. I’m exhausted and that one tiny piece of chocolate is not going to hold me over.” He asks, as we drive up and over a hill. As we clear the top, I can clearly make out the faint lights of buildings. It’s definitely a small town, or maybe just a cluster of buildings. The lights are few and far between, but it’s definitely something.

“I gave you more than one chocolate.” I say softly. We begin driving past a few scattered houses, and then toward what looks like small stores and businesses.

“And yes, I think we should stay.” I sigh, knowing it’s for the best. It’s late, the weather is terrible and I feel exactly as he does. The promise of dinner, a hot shower and bed are far more tempting than another cramped, damp 8 hours in the car.

“Okay, that settles it.” He says, sounding relieved, as he makes a sharp turn past one of the more well lit buildings, pulling into a small parking area by the side of an old stone building with a sign ‘Carnwath Inn’ lit warmly in the rain. A beacon in the night.


	36. September 2013: Room

 “This is a nightmare.” I mumble under my breath, and then take a step away from the small desk. Tom puts a hand out to me, and gives me a warning look.

“It’ll be fine.” He says softly. He turns back to the older man at the desk, who is looking through a reservations book.

“So, Mr. Williams, you have one room. Two beds?” Tom asks, and I watch his shoulders slump slightly. We are both exhausted, cold and drenched with rain. My stomach is still angry, the soothing effects of the chocolate having worn off. And now we’ve stepped onto the set of what must be a terrible romantic comedy, or in our case, a bad dramedy. One room left. At least we’ve got two beds going for us. I don’t really mind sharing a room with him, because to be honest, I would sleep on the couch in the common room as long as I was dry, warm and fed. Still, it’s a little inconvenient considering our current situation. What can go wrong, will go wrong.

“Yes. We’ve a wedding this weekend, so we’re mostly booked. Lovely couple they are! Though the bride looks a bit like…have you seen those blind mole rats?” Mr. Williams starts to ramble, in the way that old men often can, and I see Tom shift impatiently on his feet. He doesn’t want to be rude, but he’s in just as bad a state as I am.

“—three hundred guests! At a small place like this! Some people.” Mr. Williams continues, and Tom opens his mouth to interrupt him, but he then stops and gets back to the subject of our room. “The room we have is one we usually reserve for a family with children. It’s two twin beds. I’m afraid that’s all we have.” Mr. Williams says apologetically, holding up his hands. Tom nods, and glances at me over his shoulder. I shrug. At least it’s two beds. It’ll be better than spending the night cold and damp in the car.

“Thank you. That’ll do. Is there anywhere nearby we can get dinner?” Tom asks, and my resolve melts a little, so happy that he’s taken charge so I can play my part as “lump in the corner”. I pray that there is somewhere we can get something, anything to eat. I’d settle for an old shoe if I could chew it.

“Well, The Cottage is closed on Sundays and that’s about all there is around here. But I can have the missus whip you up something. Bring it up to your room?” Mr. Williams offers, and I nearly run forward and kiss him with happiness.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” I pipe up, grabbing my bags off the floor, suddenly feeling relieved.

“Sure. Your room is first right at the top of the stairs.” He hands Tom an old key, and gives us both a quick smile. Tom nods, thanks him and then turns and looks at me with a raised eyebrow. I notice the dark smudges under his eyes, the wary look on his face, and I can tell he’s moments away from collapsing. I give him a tiny smile, and I reach forward and squeeze his arm quickly. Tom turns and leads the way up the old, rather ornate staircase. I follow closely behind at his heels, sighing softly.

“Are you alright?” He turns and looks at me as we get to the top of the stairs. I nod, feeling bone weary.

“Tired. Cold. Hungry.” I manage. Tom nods, and reaches down, taking the bags from my hands.

“Alright, well let’s get you settled in then.” He says softly, and then walks to the closed door to our room. When he opens it, we step inside, and I shut the door behind us.

Despite everything, the room is nice. More than nice. It’s cozy, and comfortable. Mr. Williams hadn’t been lying, though. There are two twin beds, separated by a small nightstand. Thick, pillowy comforters lie on top of each bed, and so despite the fact that they are small, they look rather heavenly. A large, curtained window covers most of one wall, and I can hear the rain beating steadily against it. Tom turns on a lamp, and the room is aglow with warm light. There’s a wood backed chair in the corner, a small dresser, and a door to the bathroom.

“Do you mind if I take a shower? I feel like I’ll never be warm again.” I ask, staring longingly at the bed. Tom shakes his head, his eyes on the other bed.

“Go ahead. I’ll make sure we get something to eat.” He sets down our bags, and then sits down on one of the beds. He groans softly, then flops back and doesn’t move.

I leave him on the bed, and I grab a change of clothes from my bag, then head into the bathroom. It’s a tiny room, but there’s a shower and when I turn on the water it is almost instantly hot, so that is all that matters to me. I try not to take too much time, but I can’t help but stand under the spray for longer than necessary. There’s some vanilla scented soap, which I use, and it feels more luxurious than anything ever. Probably because I’ve been cold all day, and stuffed into a tiny car.

After my shower, I change into my pajamas and wrap a towel around my head, then quietly open the door. The steams rushes out, and I feel the cooler air hit my skin. Tom’s turned off the main overhead light, and all that’s on is the small lamp. He’s still lying almost exactly where I’d left him, but his boots are off and he’s got one arm over his eyes. His long legs are bent at the knees and his feet are planted on the floor, as if he’d been sitting up, fallen over and then simply passed out. Perhaps it wasn’t far from the truth. I watch him for a minute, not sure if he’s really asleep or just resting.

I quietly set my things down, and see there’s a tray on the dresser. The most delicious looking sandwiches I’ve ever seen, along with a big pile of biscuits and a pot of tea. I could kiss Mrs. Williams, whoever she is. My stomach rumbles in anticipation. I quickly pull the towel off my head, my hair falling in wet wisps around my shoulders. I run my fingers through it as I walk over to Tom.

He’s definitely asleep. I can see the steady slow rise and fall of his chest, the even way he’s breathing. I debate for a moment just letting him sleep, but I know he’s just as hungry as I am. I lean forward, and gently, so as not to startle him, I rub his arm. He starts, his arm quickly moving from his eyes, and he starts to sit up.

“It’s okay. It’s just me.” I say softly, and his eyes clear as he remembers where he is.

“Sorry, I passed out after the sandwiches came.” He clears his throat, sitting up.

“Sandwiches are exciting.” I smile. He looks at me as if he’s not sure what he’s seeing, and then he nods.

“How was your shower?” He asks.

“Perfect.” I hum.

“I’m next. Get started eating. I’ll catch up with you.” He stands up, and I step out of the way. He slides past me in the narrow aisle between the beds, and I watch him walk over and grab a cookie from the tray. He devours it in two bites, and then leans down to dig through his duffel bag. I watch him sort through his things, his brow furrowed as he does. A simple thing. An every day action. But it’s a face I know well, and an action that makes my stomach hurt for some unknown reason.

“Tom.” I say his name softly, and he looks up, still bent over his duffel. He gives me a quick, lopsided grin.

“Gracie?” He stands up, clothes in his hands.

“This is my fault, I’m sorry.” I say carefully. He frowns and shrugs good naturedly.

“It’s not. And don’t worry. It’s one night and we’ll be on our way in the morning.” He nods. I swallow hard.

“I do want to be your friend. I’m sorry about what I said last night. I was…reacting and not think.” I manage. Tom takes a deep breath, looking away and then puts his hands on his narrow hips.

“Friends would be nice. I would like that. But you don’t need to ask.” He says softly. I nod.

“Okay. Go take your shower.” I turn away, pretending to straighten out the already perfect covers on my bed.

**** 

 

I’ve already devoured most of one sandwich by the time Tom steps out of the bathroom. His hair is damp and messy. He’s changed into sweats and a clean tshirt. No socks, his big, strangely elegant feet make soft padding noises as he walks across the hardwood. He drops his jeans on the floor by his bag, and then grabs half a sandwich, eating it nearly as fast as I’d eaten mine.

“Good god.” He groans, sitting down on the edge of the bed, staring absentmindedly at the remaining crust in his hand.

“It’s good.” I nod. We’re both too tired for much more than that. I pour us tea, and then hand Tom a steaming cup. We drink it like it’s a sports drink and we’ve run a marathon, big gulps.

“I’ve never tasted anything better.” He grins and then flops back on his bed, mug resting precariously on his flat stomach. I sigh and lay down as well, my head hitting the pillows with a soft thud.

“Mmm. This is fantastic.” I close my eyes.

“It was a good idea. I couldn’t spend another minute in that car.” He moves, but I don’t open my eyes. I hear his mug clink softly on the nightstand, and then the squeak of his bed.

“Me either. I want another cookie, but I’m too tired to get up.” I groan. He laughs, and then moves. A second later, a cookie is placed in my half open hand. I smile, and keep my eyes closed as I take a bite.

“Thank you.” I sigh.

“Have you been to Cross Street Bakery? They make cookies like these. I went on a terrible date there once, though. So I never go there.” He says absently. I open my eyes, and see him sitting, his back against the wall, his legs pulled up onto the bed. He looks like a little kid.

“I haven’t been to Cross Street, but I know what you’re talking about.” I nod. “And dating isn’t really my thing, so I wouldn’t know about the rest.” I add in with a smirk. Tom laughs.

“What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?” He asks. “Mine includes my date having an allergic reaction to something she ate.” He grimaces.

“Yikes.” I shrug. “I don’t know. You know, I’ve never really been on a real date.” I look at him, watching his reaction. Tom peers at me over his knees, and then sits up a bit straighter.

“Come on.” He shakes his head.

“Well, I mean, not a traditional date. Where the guy picks me up, and we’re all dressed up. Maybe he brings me some flowers—and not the cheapo ones from the grocery store. Ones from the flower carts. Do you know what I mean?” I ask. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the sudden rush of calories, or the somewhat forced sense of intimacy, but I can’t stop talking.

“Yeah.” He nods, watching me.

“So yeah. Flowercart flowers. Picks me up. Takes me somewhere planned. Good conversation. Nice banter. Long walk home. Goodnight kiss on the front step.” I sigh, and then flop onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.

“But you’ve been on dates before.” He interjects, sounding a bit shocked.

“Sure. The kind where we meet at a bar or for coffee, and we split the check and we talk about stupid, boring shit and then I walk myself home. I go on those all the time.” I laugh.

“Sounds romantic.”

“What? Do you always take your girlfriends out for real dates, then?” I prod, turning my head to see him. Tom shrugs.

“Not always, but I’ve been known to pull out all the stops for someone special.” He says simply.

“All the Susies and the Serenas and the Jennys of the world?” I say before I can stop myself. Tom is quiet, his face unreadable, but his brow creases just slightly.

“Are you keeping tabs?” He says softly. I huff.

“No.”

“Hm.”

“I just don’t get it.” I look at him, my thoughts heavy with fatigue. He raises an eyebrow, inviting me to continue. “You date all these women. You told me from the start you didn’t have time for a relationship. But then you’ve never…” I fade off. I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but it can’t be going somewhere good.

“I’ve never what?”

“Nothing. I’m tired and rambling.” I close my eyes, feeling a weight settle in on my chest. A few seconds later I reach up, grab the toggle on the lamp and turn it off. We’re thrown into darkness, the sounds of the rain pattering down outside. It’s soothing, calming, and manages to help quiet the monsters rumbling in my heavy chest.

There’s quiet for some time, and though I can’t quite fall asleep, I’m almost sure Tom has. I’m surprised when he speaks a moment later.

“I’ve missed you, Gracie. I know I messed up a lot with you.” His voice is soft, hesitant. I don’t answer for some time.

“Don’t you ever miss it? The real intimacy? Of having someone who knows you and accepts you for whatever you are that day? Some people hate the predictability, but that’s all I want. How can you ever have that with those women you date?” I whisper.

“Because I don’t.” He replies simply. “I’ve only ever felt that way with one person.”

“Kelly?” I ask softly, his ex fiancé coming to mind.

“No. Not Kelly, Gracie.” His voice is low, deep and clear in the quiet room. He doesn’t need to answer.

I move before I let my brain catch up. Before it can tell me to stay put. I slide across the narrow aisle between our beds, and when I get to Tom, I feel him react in surprise. He moves though, pulling aside his blankets and making a space for me. I slip in between his warm sheets, and curl up against him. He’s solid, warm and I fit perfectly in the space between his arm and chest.

We kiss because there is no other answer to what is happening. He tilts my face to his, then gently pushes me onto my back, and slides on top of me. There isn’t much room in the tiny bed, so we have to shift carefully. The weight of him, the heat of his body, it makes me grab onto him, hold him tightly and pray that I’m not dreaming. His mouth is warm and he breathes me in as he kisses me. I wrap my arms around his neck and chest, whimpering softly against his mouth. It can’t be normal to feel this way. To feel as if you want to climb inside someone. That mere touching isn’t enough. That there must be another way, a higher way of being with them.

“Tom.” His name comes out a soft whimper, a plead.

“I’ve had dreams about you saying my name.” He says into my neck, his arms sliding underneath me. I feel a slight tug of panic—of worry that I won’t be able to control myself if I’m not careful.

“Tom, we can’t… I can’t.” I breathe, biting my lip and pressing my head back as I do. It’s not quite the truth, but it’s not really a lie either. Everything in my body is screaming for his touch. But I am afraid to fall back on the physical side of things. Sex. The one thing we always fell back on. Tom hesitates for a second, his lips at my shoulder, but then he moves so we’re face to face.

“Okay. I know.” He leans down, kissing me softly.  
            “I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have climbed in your bed then.” I say lamely.

“Don’t apologize. You’re welcome in my bed any time you want, no strings attached.” He slides off me, but doesn’t let go. We settled against each other in the tiny bed, like spoons nestled in a drawer. We’re both silent, but my thoughts are racing. I pull his arm around me, up between my breasts and press his hand against my mouth. He pushes his face into my hair, and then kisses the top of my shoulder.

“Promise me you’ll still be here when I wake up.” He whispers. I squeeze his hand and take a deep, shaky breath..

“I will. I promise.”

 ****

 

I dream about ravines and cliffs and spaces so far apart that they make the Grand Canyon look miniscule. I’m awoken the next morning with a start, gray dim light filtering in through the window. Tom’s wrapped around me, and I know instantly that something must be wrong. I can hear my phone buzzing noisily on the nightstand, where I had plugged it in the night before to charge. I sit up, sliding out from Tom’s warm arms. He opens his eyes, awoken by the buzzing as well.

I glance at my phone, and frown. It’s my Aunt Tara. I haven’t talked to her in quite some time. Maybe over a year. Since I’m always in Sandbanks with Tom’s family for the holidays, there’s been less and less reason to talk to my Aunt. Or really any of my family. I glance at Tom, who has an eyebrow arched inquisitively at me, his eyes half closed, drowsy with sleep. I shrug and then answer the call.

“Hello?” My voice is hoarse, cracking slightly.

“Gracie? It’s your Aunt.” Her voice comes through loud and clear, rough from years of smoking.

“Hi. Is everything okay?” I have no idea why she’s calling, and it’s alarming. I sit up all the way, my head feeling full and heavy from sleep.

“Your father is dead, Gracie. He died sometime last night. The funeral will be on Friday.” Her words are clipped, quick and almost uncaring. As if she’s telling me a weather report or something she’s had to repeat often. I suddenly feel numb, cold all over and my head starts to spin.

“Grace?” Tom’s voice behind me, reading my body language. I mumble something to my aunt and then hang up, my motions robotic.

I turn to Tom, and he blanches at the sight of me. I don’t know what I look like, I don’t even know what I’m feeling. Things start to spin and then surge forward at warp speed.

“Are you alright? Is everyone okay, Gracie?” He sits up, his hands on my arms.

“My father died. My father is dead.” I whisper, my lips going numb as I speak.


	37. September 2013: Goodbye. Again.

We are quiet as we make our way back to London. I fall into some sort of stupor. Tom packs up our things, though there’s not much. He forces me to eat a scone of some sort, which he shoves in a napkin from the tray that Mr. Williams drops off at our room in the morning. Tom is calm and quiet the whole time, which I appreciate. My mind is spinning, and I feel as if I’m not even really there.

How can he be dead? How? When did I last speak to him? What was our last conversation? I can only remember telling him I didn’t know when I’d next be in New York. And yet, I’d been in DC…only a 3 hour drive away and I had decided not to go. All my memories of him seem to be covered in a fog, slipping away so quickly. I feel my stomach churn, as Tom hurtles us down the road in the little tin can. He’s driving so fast, as if he thinks he can change the past if he makes it back to London in time.

“Tom, pull over. Please.” I say softly, my hands gripping the car door, my mouth watering unhappily. Tom pulls over, and I make it out just in time to lose my breakfast on the side of the dirt road. He parks and turns off the car, and a few moments later, he’s at my side with a bottle of water.

“Take deep breaths.” He says softly, and I nod, hunched over and squatting by the side of the road. His hand comes down on my back. I don’t look up, but I take the water and rinse out my mouth. I can feel tears threatening to fall, but my whole body is tense, and they don’t come.

“I didn’t…I didn’t…” I can barely speak.

“Ok, Gracie. It’s okay. Breathe or you’re going to hyperventilate.” He says gently. Tom leans down and pulls me toward him, into his side and I let him. I lean against him, and tuck my head into his neck and shoulder. I can’t relax though. I stare straight ahead, my eyes burning and unseeing.

“I’m sorry, Gracie girl.” He whispers. I nod but I don’t respond.

After a minute, I pull away and we get back in the car. I don’t have anything to say. I have more regrets about my father than I do happy memories. I can’t remember the last time I saw him. And now, the thought of going back to New York and seeing my family, it fills me with a sick sense of dread.

The seven hours home seem to fly by, which is surprising. I’m not quite there during the car ride, and Tom stays quiet, though I can feel his eyes on me.

I make a few phone calls. The first being to Santos. He’s stunned into silence, and though our conversation is quick, he nearly brings me to tears. Of course he would. He tells me he will get plane tickets in order, and not to worry. And that he’ll see me in New York. I thank him, and while I’m speaking I can’t help but think that my voice sounds strange. Our conversation is all of five minutes long, but I feel a slight sense of calm after I’m done talking to him. He’s the closest I have to family. Next comes Mary, who is apologetic and sympathetic, and tells me not to even mention work. Our conversation is even shorter.

And then…that’s it. There’s no one else for me to call. I have no other family. No other friends that I feel need to know about this loss. I feel an emptiness spread in my chest. A widening hole that is only enhanced by the fact that I’ve lost one of the last bonds to any real family.

**** 

 

New York is as I left it. Autumn has nearly shifted to winter, and there’s a cold, bone chattering wind that sweeps through when I get out of the cab in front of the hotel. The flight had been a good one. Santos, bless him, had booked me first class, and I had managed to get some sleep for the first time in 24 hours.

After finally getting into London late on Sunday, Tom had taken me to my apartment. He didn’t stay for long, but only because I had forced him to leave.

“I’m coming with you.” He said, widening his stance, ready for a fight. I squinted at him, my head buzzing.

“No.” I turned and walked toward my bedroom, which was really just the other side of the small apartment.

“Gracie. Let me come with you.” He followed me over as I began shoving things into a suitcase. I dumped out my small bag from the Alwinton trip and simply put most of it’s contents—toiletries and a sweater, into my open suitcase. Living out of bags.

“No, no. I don’t…it’s not a good idea.” I shook my head, distracted. It wasn’t. I didn’t want him there. God, I could only imagine him mixing with my family. My horrid Aunt and Uncle. I didn’t even know who else would show up. Some of my father’s delinquent friends? My mother? I didn’t even know how to get a hold of my mother. I wasn’t sure she even knew he’d died, or if she’d care. My stomach flipped as I continued putting clothes in my suitcase.

“You need someone—“

“Santos is meeting me at the airport.” I looked up at him, and was met with worried blue eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest, and I could see he was really concerned.

“Santos is meeting me. I’ll be fine.” I said sternly, and then I promptly started pushing him out the door. Having him there would be too much. It would mean too much. As much as I’d like to lean on him, to lie to myself and pretend that he was mine to lean on, I knew it was a bad idea.

So I made him leave. I didn’t say much, but a door in the face is pretty self explanatory.

I’m in love with him. I’m not over him. And I don’t want him there to see me at my absolute worst. We were a one night stand. And I’ve got to close that door. So I did, literally.

 ****

 

The funeral is Friday morning. Santos and I spend the next few days holed up in a 37th floor New York hotel room, drinking wine and ordering room service. We don’t open the curtains. We don’t leave the room. He’s not in mourning, but he’s doing it for me. I’m not sure I’m in mourning either, to be honest. At least not in the normal sense. I’m confused, and angry, and somewhere in that boiling mess, I’m also sad. Deeply, deeply sad. Being with Santos for a few days helps, and though I don’t cry and we don’t talk about it much, I know I will find a way to handle it.

“Gracie, you know I love you, right? You ice queen, you.” Santos says to me, the night before the funeral. The room is dark, but we are watching reruns of bad reality tv. He grabs my hand. We’re sharing a bed, even though the room has two big beds.

“I love you too.” I whisper.

“You can’t change the relationship you had with your father. But don’t beat yourself up over it. None of it was your fault, you know.” He blinks at me in the dark, and I nod, feeling hot tears run down the sides of my face.

“I know.”

“I’m sort of grateful he was a shitty dad, anyway.” Santos says with such a flippant nature that it makes me laugh.

“Why?” I grin, waiting.

“Because it’s what made us become friends. Shitty dads, man. Bringing gay men and lonely ladies together since…well…the beginning of time, I suppose.” He laughs, his voice echoing through the room. I giggle as well, and reach over, patting him gently on the cheek.

“Thank you for always being my family.” Santos says softly, his voice full of surprising emotion. I grab him into a hug. We hug for a moment, and then he begins to fake sob, wailing loudly enough that I’m sure the hotel is going to get a complaint. We break into laughter, rolling around on the bed and hitting each other as I feel something inside of me let loose.

 

 ****

Things start off bad from the start, Friday morning. We get to the church on time, and there’s a small reception being held ahead of time for just family. It’s in a small room off the main chapel, and I see my aunt right away. She looks the same. Rail thin, older than her actual years, dark hair and crepe skin. Her husband, my uncle Danny is there as well. He’s gained weight, his dark stubble scraggly and unkempt on his face. Their two kids run the room, despite being too old for that sort of behavior.

We don’t talk much. I feel the weight in the room. There’s a few other people there, but I don’t recognize them. Aunt Tara introduces me, though begrudgingly, and I find they are distant cousins or friends of my father. My father. My father. I haven’t seen him yet, I know I won’t. He requested to be cremated.

Santos stays by my side the whole, the strong and silent type for once. He only cracks one or two jokes, and they are perfectly timed to pull me back from the dark side whenever he can see I’m getting too close. He’s always been such a good friend to me, and I’m so grateful he’s there.

“We’ll have a bit of a lunch reception at our house after the funeral, if you’d like to come.” Aunt Tara says, though she doesn’t look enthusiastic. I nod. I don’t think I’m truly invited, but I’m still surprised she mentioned it.

“Thanks.”

“Your father really wished you could have come to see him more often.” She says, her small eyes boring into mine. I feel my stomach clench and I bite my lip, tasting blood.

“I’m sorry I didn’t.” I manage.

“Well, what’s done is done.” She nods and then turns, walking away. Santos grips my elbow, and makes a grunting noise.

“Maybe your father should have been a dad for one, instead of making you be the adult all the time.” He whispers, his voice angry. I roll my shoulders, trying to break the tension in my back.

“Don’t worry about her, Santos. She’s always like that.” I manage, though her words sting extra this time. Santos grunts again. We wait a few more minutes, before heading into the church.

The service is short. The church is hardly full. There’s maybe two dozen people there. I don’t recognize most of them, but halfway through, I do recognize one. She comes in late, and thankfully doesn’t make much noise. I don’t even know it’s her at first when she sits down a few pews ahead of me, but I feel Santos stiffen. And then she turns around and it’s like being smacked in the face. My mother.

She looks so much different than I can remember. I had a vision of her in my head—a version of her really. A compilation of memories and pictures, sewn together. I haven’t seen her since early high school. She looks…she looks terrible. Drugs, and years of partying will do that. Her hair is the same color as mine—a dark strawberry blond. She’s short and petite like me, but somewhat overweight. Her face is deeply lined, her eyes slightly sunken in under dark circles.

“Oh god.” Santos whispers, unable to help it. I feel my eyes burn and I look at him.

“We’re not going to that reception after. I can’t do this. We are leaving as soon as we can.” I turn my head, whispering softly into his shoulder. My mother turns around again, and this time she looks directly at me. I freeze, holding my breath. I can hear the preacher droning on in the background, but I’m locked in her gaze.

“Ok. No reception. Lots of alcohol.” Santos agrees.

The funeral ends with prayer and a song. I can feel my mother watching me as much as she can, and when we stand to leave, I can tell she wants to speak to me. I don’t know where she has been or what she has been doing for the last ten or so years of my life, but I have no desire to find out. I may have just lost my father today, but I let go of her a long time ago.

“Let’s go. Let’s go.” I murmur hurriedly to Santos, pushing him softly toward the doors. I hide slightly behind him, using him like a battering ram so we can leave as fast as possible. It seems to work until suddenly, he stops dead.

“Santos!” I say in a loud whisper. I stand up straight, peak around his shoulder to see what is holding us up.

It’s not a what. It’s a who.

“Tom!” Santos exclaims, and my blood runs cold. It is Tom. He’s standing about two feet in front of us, hands in his pockets, wearing a dark blue suit. I feel about a thousand emotions run through me, before everything starts to happen so quickly.

I hear shouting over my shoulder, behind me. Shouting. In a church. That’s never good. It’s followed by a loud rush of exclamations, and more shouting. I turn quickly, just in time to see my mother and my Aunt, fighting. It’s not just a verbal fight either, it’s turned into something physical. Hair flying, punches being thrown. In a church. During a funeral. It would be funny if it weren’t my life. It would be funny if it weren’t sad and embarrassing and heartbreaking.

My father’s sister and my mother never got along. Apparently not even a death can change that.

“Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph Gordon Levitt.” Santos says breathlessly, as the two women keep fighting. A few men step in, trying to pry them off, but they are wily and screaming mad. My uncle stands to the side, watching them, not bothering to try and help. I want to hit him, myself.

“You whore! You killed him, you know! With all the shit you did! You fucking bitch!” My aunt screams, her voice ringing through the high ceilings.

“I did not! You’re the one who wouldn’t leave us the fuck alone! To live our lives, you meddling cunt!” My mother screeches, and at that point I know I’m going to be sick if I don’t leave. I move quickly, turning away from the sight of them, on the ground and clawing at each other. I nearly run into Tom, who I’ve almost forgotten was there. Almost. The humiliation, the realization that he is seeing all of this, hits me in the gut and I rush past him, wishing that this was all a huge, terrible nightmare.

I run outside, the cool air hitting my hot face as I move as quick as I can down the stairs. I hate all this. I hate it so much. I hate that I can’t control it or how I feel. I hate that my father is gone, and things were never good. That I will never get to say goodbye. Or tell him how mad I am at him, and disappointed and hurt. And I hate that none of that even matters anymore. How I feel, or what happened. Because he’s gone, and with his life goes everything else that happened on that timeline.

I make it down the stairs, somehow without falling, though I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t have a car here, since we took a cab, so I just keep walking. Away from the terrible vision of my mother’s aged, drawn face. And my Aunt’s horrible, screeching yell. I cross the street in front of the church, toward what looks like a park, feeling drawn to the green grass and the orange and red tinged trees.

I’m nearly under the safety of the trees, when I hear him call my name.

“Gracie.” Tom’s voice, so out of place in this world. He should have stayed where he belonged. With beaches and palm trees, and stolen nights. Where family, and shitty parents, and bad relationships don’t exist. Where all you need was a smile and a cold drink, and all your problems could melt away. Not here. He didn’t belong here. He belonged with his perfect family, and his parade of girlfriends, and his complete and utter lack of awareness of me.

“Please, go away.” I moan and I feel anger burst through me. I spin around, and I nearly come nose to chest with him. I shove him away, hard, and it catches him off balance so that he stumbles back.

“Please, Gracie.” He says softly. I look at him, his hands up slightly in surrender.

“What are you doing here?!” I sob. He looks up, his blue eyes full. I clutch my hands at my sides, my whole body tense.

“I wanted to be here for you—“ He starts, but I cut him off. My rage is blinding, angry and bursting at the seams. It’s not just angry at him, but a lot of it is for him, and so I let him have it.

“You want to be here for me? You want to help me?! Then leave me the fuck alone, Tom! For god’s sake…please, let me be! I can’t do this. It hurts to look at you, to be near you. I don’t want you…to see this! To see any of this—my family, my life. I spent the last three years convincing myself I didn’t love you, and I just….I have nothing else to give to you. You’ve taken it all. So please, leave me! I’m fine alone!” I am crying, and my arms are so tightly at my sides, my knees locked, that I sway slightly.

“Gracie, you don’t have any reason to forgive me. But I can’t leave you like this. I can’t.” His voice breaks, and I fight the urge to slap him. How dare he? He wasn’t allowed to be upset. Not now.

“Leave, Tom. Everyone leaves. My parents. Richard. You. All you did was leave. I never even had you and you left.” I say with such venom, such anger in my voice, that it even scares me. Tom’s eyes seem to come to life, and I know I’ve angered him now.

“Gracie, _you never asked me to stay_!” He shouts this, and his voice rings through the trees.

We are both quiet for a moment stunned by each other.

“Not everyone leaves. I’m prepared to stay.” His voice is steadier, quiet and carefully guarded. He speaks through a clenched jaw, and I can see how much he is hurting.

“I love you, Gracie. How long have I been in love with you? I don’t know. A week? A month? Three years? But it doesn’t matter, really. Because I’m here now. I know I don’t deserve it, but if you’ll forgive me, if you’ll let me stay, then I won’t ever leave again. But tell me to go now, and I’ll listen. I’ll go back to being Will, and you can be Jamie, and I’ll just be some guy you knew for a night. Pineapple.” He shrugs, and then wipes at his eyes.

I crumble forward, and he is there to catch me. I am suddenly crying so hard that I can barely stand and I can’t seem to catch my breath. He holds me like I might break, and then he holds me so fiercely that I don’t know where I end and he starts. We stand, embracing for some time.

“I forgive you. I’m sorry. Please, stay. Please stay.” I murmur breathlessly. I hold him closer, crushed against him, and nothing else seems to matter. We stay that way for some time, until my heart starts to settle, my breath comes back.

I don’t know how much time has passed before we are interrupted, by a soft, slow clapping noise behind us. We let go, turning toward the noise, Tom’s hand wrapped tight around mine.

“Slow clap for you two, idiots. You terribly messed up people. Slow clap because you’ve finally pulled your head out of your bums.” Santos raises his hands up and claps. Slowly and then fast, before yelling loudly, happily. We all laugh and Tom grabs me, pulling me into another hug, kissing me fully, hard and passionate.

I can’t let him go, and I finally, for the first time feel as if I don’t need to.


	38. December 2013: Christmas Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all for the support on this story. I truly hope you enjoyed it. I can't put into words what it means to have all your likes, and your comments. Thanks for your suggestions and encouragement, and all the funny, inspiring and awesome conversations I've had with so many of you. Also thanks to my baes, @bluebell84 and @redwritinghood09-- who also helped with some dialogue in this chap. ;) Love you all!

I’m alone, buried under covers in my tiny twin bed. It’s a warm cocoon, and though I can hear a distant knocking, I don’t want to peer out into the chilly room. The tapping gets louder, and I finally poke my head out. I’m greeted by the familiar room at Sandbanks. Newly renovated by Mrs. H, though I can’t quite tell what is different about it. New comforter, and I think the wood floors look a little shinier than they did the last time I was here. I sit up, my hair tousled and sticking up every which way.

“Yes?” I ask softly. I arrived into Sandbanks late last night, as always. The house had been quiet when I’d arrived, and Mrs. H had sent me off to bed with tea and fresh made biscuits.

“Hi. It’s just me, sorry.” Emily pokes her head in, smiling brightly. She hesitates awkwardly, and then slides into the room. “Good morning.”

“Morning!” I say, feeling a bit groggy but mostly awake. Christmas morning. There’s the normal buzz of excitement in the house.

“How are you? How was the trip in?” She asks, standing just inside the door.

“Good. Thanks for asking.” I smile. She nods, and I feel as if she’s waiting to say something.

“Well, um, I wanted you to meet someone. He’s been very busy lately with work, and hasn’t been around much.” She hops awkwardly from foot to foot, and shrugs. I frown, sitting up more, and surveying my situation. Baggy tshirt, messy hair, rumpled everything. Well.

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Yes. My older brother. Um…here.” She scoots to the side, and then gives me a side glance. “I’m sorry, he’s making me do this.” She hisses softly, before grabbing the door handle and yanking it open. She scurries out of the room, and I’m half laughing, half confused.

A second later, Tom comes into the room. He’s smiling, his cheeks pink. He’s wearing what can only be described as the most horrid Christmas sweater ever, and he’s carrying something behind his back.

“Hi.” I say, trying not to laugh, remembering back so long ago when we’d done this same thing.

“Hello again.” He says softly, looking at me with bright, happy eyes.

“Hi.” I repeat, breathless for some reason.

“I’m Tom. Nice to meet you.” He leans over the side of my bed, and places a huge bouquet of flowers next to me. they look like wild flowers, a vast array of them, wrapped in heavy paper and tied with twine at the bottom. I smile, feeling a laugh burst forth, my vision blurring. He lowers himself next to my bed, laughing as well.

“Nice to meet you, Tom. I’m Gracie.” I whisper. He grins and leans over, intertwining his fingers with mine. He lifts them to his mouth, kissing my palms and then holding them to his face. We both smile, and Tom’s eyes get glassy. I blink and feel a tear run down my cheek.

“I was wondering, Gracie, if you’d like to go on a date with me.” He says, moving my hands over, holding them against his chest. I can feel his heart beating, strong against my palms. I laugh softly, through my tears.

“Yes, yes I would love that.” I nod, leaning in to him. Tom grins and then pulls me to him, crawling into bed with me and smothering my face with kisses.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to ask you that.” He whispers.

“It’s okay. All that matters is that you did.” I manage, burying my face in his neck, grabbing handfuls of his sweater and trying to pull it off. Tom laughs as he squirms against me, burrowing further into the tiny bed.

“Where did you get this sweater?!” I laugh, looking at the massive amounts of yarn balls and snowflakes adorned on it. Tom laughs, shaking his head.

“Santos strikes again.” He grins, and then we dissolve into laughter. “He said you’d never refuse me in this sweater.”

“He’s right. He’s definitely right.” I grin and then nuzzle against Tom. We grow quiet, our chatter turning into giggles and soft sighs. The house seems to awaken around us. We are wonderfully alone and nestled in our room, but just outside, Christmas morning starts to bloom. The noise of breakfast and presents and family a soft soundtrack just outside the room. We take our time, and then, when we manage to untangle our limbs, we get ready together and then go join our family in the festivities.


End file.
